


Forgive the Cliché

by aerClassic



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Background JongSang, Background MinYeon, Dieting Mention, Friends with Benefits Park Seonghwa/Kim Hongjoong, Hyomin is NB because I do what I want, Internalized Homophobia, Jeong Yunho is a Good Boy, Kim Hongjoong...is not, M/M, TW: Hongjoong vs Food he wants but can't have, background hyungwonho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/aerClassic
Summary: Kim Hongjoong, twenty-seven years old and already labeled a has-been in the entertainment industry, hates newcomer Jeong Yunho with all the fiery passion of a star gone supernova."I think you're just saying that because you secretly want to hold his hand and, like, kiss him," Wooyoung informs him around a mouth full of cheesy nachos. "You only ever get this prickly around boys you think are cute."Hongjoong scowls fiercely and stretches across the table to take his food back. "I do not.""Like acactus," Wooyoung stresses.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Park Seonghwa/Song Mingi
Comments: 53
Kudos: 391





	1. Premier

“No,” Hongjoong says as soon as he sees the predicted cast list. He points at his publicist slash manager slash best friend for emphasis. “Absolutely not, no way, not on my mother’s life will I take this part and you can’t make me.”

“Yes way,” Seonghwa tells him matter-of-fact while distractedly tapping away on his phone, totally ignoring the threatening finger waving in his face. “The director asked for you _specifically_ and you are contractually obligated to do what I tell you.” Seonghwa pauses to look up at him with his mouth pinched inward. “You need this, Hongjoong. After the last couple of films…”

Seonghwa trails off and Hongjoong groans, dropping the sample script to the floor and curls himself back into the welcoming embrace of his high threadcount sheets. He knows, he _knows_ this is not going to be a role he can realistically turn down—not when it’s indie darling Chae Hyungwon, for some reason, lining out in perfect black lines how this character is made for Kim Hongjoong and Kim Hongjoong alone. You don’t say no to Chae Hyungwon. Hongjoong doesn’t say no to Chae Hyungwon when he’s already fairly sure his own name has been blacklisted from most major production studios. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” he huffs. “Not as if I don’t see all the blog posts and the paps yelling about me being washed up every time I try to go out to dinner with anyone in public.”

“You’re not even thirty,” Seonghwa tries for reassuring, “You can’t be washed up before you hit the big 3-0, everyone knows that.”

“Tell that to my dwindling brand deals and Rotten Tomatoes,” Hongjoong mutters, hidden in his blanket cocoon. “Do I really have to work with _him_ , though? Really, really?”

Seonghwa sighs, sits on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed and rips away his covers in one swift motion. “Really, really, Hongjoong. I’ve already told the studio yes on your behalf.”

“Ugh,” Hongjoong tells him feelingly. 

He shifts around until he can bunch both feet under Seonghwa’s thigh for balance as he dangles his head off the end of his bed. He read somewhere that increasing blood flow to the brain helps with cognitive function or something. Probably information gleaned from one of the many crunchy yoga magazines Wooyoung left around his house after their workout sessions. If no extra brain power materializes then maybe it will at least let him black out for a few minutes and pretend he’s not about to spend an intimate four months filming nonstop with an actor he despises. 

“Quit pouting. You never know, he might drop this project in favor of something else.” Seonghwa soothes a placating hand up Hongjoong’s left flank. “He’s—ah—a pretty popular pick right now.”

“He won’t.” Bitterness sits thick in his throat. Hongjoong breathes through his nose and uses the muscles Wooyoung and Jongho have spent countless hours trying to strengthen by folding upward into a sit-up. “It’s a Chae Hyungwon movie.”

Hongjoong flops back, this time letting his fingers dangle until they touch the hard wood of his floor.

“You don’t say no to that.”

**\---------------------------**

The thing is, Hongjoong has been working in and around acting circles since before he could string more than two words together at a time. His mother started him young: ads for baby food, toddler apparel, an orange juice promotion that paid their mortgage three times over, appearances on daytime talk shows and tawdry soap operas as a child abducted by their estranged father who turned out to actually be the dead brother of another character who slept with his wife. From there he branched out to game shows geared towards kids and preteens before graduating to teen dramas. 

For the longest time, his only claim to fame aside from toddler adverts was a character he portrayed on a long standing high school drama that played late enough to be after any prime time slots, but not so late their target audience slept through it. Lee Wongsik, a basketball player too short for the court who tried desperately to make varsity and never succeeding. There was a vague plotline of him trying to chase after one of the school’s cheerleaders, only to end up snubbed and falling into the waiting arms of his best friend slash calculus tutor played by Park Jiyeon. Vague in the sense it was only halfheartedly shoved into the script during the last three episodes because a school sports drama wasn't holding the attention of the coveted 18-30 female demographic and romance was just the ticket to keep their ratings up.

She still calls him up to brag about being his first beard before swerving the conversation around to bitch about her stylist team not letting her wear mesh tops in public. Hongjoong would hate it if he didn’t love her so fiercely.

Their after school romance actually managed to rocket him to the top of the list of names for male leads in romcoms. It was steady work from the ages of eighteen to twenty-five, but…

Hongjoong had been handed mediocre script after mediocre script that his manager at the time forced him to accept despite his concerns about the quality. His last five movies had all been flops and all the blame for it had been placed at his feet and his feet alone. Nevermind his peers working alongside him. Nevermind the scriptwriters churning out the same drivel over and over again because it was easy to come up with another boy-meets-girl meetcute every six months without trying to add substance. Nevermind the directors and producers only making the films for the payout. Nevermind that the company he signed for only allowed him to be typecast as the plucky male lead.

Rotten Tomatoes gave his last three performances such low scores even his social media accounts began to get bombarded by internet tough guys doing the equivalent of pointing and laughing at his face in his mentions.

By twenty-six he’d been labeled a washed up character actor and slowly, by inches, the brand deals and the lucrative sponsorships began to disappear. He stopped being invited to industry parties. No more standing lunch dates with production office heads. No more lounging around the back seat of high dollar limousines while some new upstart director fed him champagne and—

Well.

Eventually his label dropped him like a hot potato before their name became tarnished for keeping him under contract.

And who did they pick up in his place?

Jeong Yunho.

A new face on the scene who became popular after appearing in the background of an Ariana Grande music video and then again speaking two throwaway lines in a Spiderman flick starring Tom Holland. He’s young, and tall, and he’s somehow managed to get himself top billing for nearly every movie genre under the sun. The label propped him up as an everyman actor: horror, suspense, romcom, sci-fi, even a _western_. All of them blockbusters. All of them award winners. 

Exactly one year his junior, Jeong Yunho has more trophies and awards and nominations under his belt than Hongjoong could even dream of touching in all of his twenty-something years of acting. Which is why sharing the spotlight with Yunho as the second lead is especially humiliating—the lead actor position should be his and his _alone_. 

To say Hongjoong hates Jeong Yunho would be an understatement.

**\---------------------------**

The only people that stuck by his side were his yoga instructor Wooyoung, his weight training slave driver Jongho, and his best friend Seonghwa, who decided to take reins of his career back and started to mercilessly hound other studios to give him a chance. Horror teams, sci-fi networks, monster of the week survival shows—anything and everything Seonghwa could get his hands on that was not Another Romantic Comedy. Seonghwa is a great manager, and an even better friend, if Hongjoong is forced to be honest, but his name doesn’t throw enough weight around to get Hongjoong the kind of gigs he needs to retire in luxury.

“You’ve got a scheduled park walk with Sophia at 3,” Seonghwa tells him while they work their way through lunch, saag paneer and chicken tikka masala with a plate of beef samosas shared between them that Hongjoong actually has to fight for. “Remember to smile this time like you two are actually dating, please?”

Hongjoong crinkles his nose. “But we aren’t.”

“The public doesn’t know that.” 

“The public is fucking stupid.”

Seonghwa kicks at his ankle beneath the table. “The _public_ pays your bills and keeps us both employed by being invested in your personal life. Just accept the free publicity and do what you do best by acting happy. Donghun swears he can get you on the front cover of Entertainment Weekly.”

Hongjoong swishes the green sauce around on his plate and wilts. He only agreed to do this stunt after being caught almost-not-quite making out with one of the male backup dancers for some boy band he’d never heard of at an event in LA. Hongjoong had been drunk, a little high, and a lot brave from not being in his home country full of homophobes and its own brand of skeezy paparazzi. Hongjoong had felt safe at the time in leading tall, dark, and American to a dark corner to try his luck at getting to second base when a bulb had flashed bright across his vision.

Running off with his tail between his legs, Hongjoong had made a frantic call to Seonghwa to cover his ass before the pictures got out.

Seonghwa had him stepping out with a new Victoria’s Secret model within fourteen hours.

“I hate this,” Hongjoong directs at the sad remnants of blended spinach. “She only knows how to say four things in Korean _max_ and all of them are variations on ‘hello, where is the bathroom’.”

“She’s a nice girl.”

Hongjoong wilts further in his seat. “I guess, yeah.”

His friend says nothing for a long time while Hongjoong works his way through the last samosa, mopping up the last of the sauce on his plate with it and grumbling happily around the mouthful.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa murmurs low.

He looks up, brows raised. “Hmm?”

“You sure you don’t want to just...” Seonghwa doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t reach over to touch him, but Hongjoong can tell by the flex of his fingers that he wants to. “You know I’d support you. Wooyoung and Jongho and your fans would support you, I’m sure.”

Hongjoong swallows the last of his meal, rough. It sticks in his throat for a second before he can push it down, washing away the flavor with deep gulps of water. “I’m fine. This is fine.” His fingers jitter where they wrap around his glass. He grins a little self-deprecating. “Everyone in show business is a little gay, hyung, but you’re not allowed to be fully out unless you want to never get another job again.”

Seonghwa’s mouth tugs down in a frown so deep it’s almost comical.

Hongjoong flicks a wadded up piece of his napkin at Seonghwa’s forehead to get him to stop. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”

Seonghwa blows out an aggravated breath. “If I have wrinkles this young, it’s only because dealing with you is a literal _nightmare_. The last time you went to a party I think I aged ten years worrying about you.” He wipes at his face before pinning Hongjoong with a look more at home being directed at sad puppies or, like, orphans or something. It makes Hongjoong's skin itch. "But really, say the word and I'll end this hetero-facade once and for all. No more fake dates. No more publicity walks."

"No more job," Hongjoong helpfully points out. "Leave it alone, Seonghwa. Tell me more about this movie you've signed me up for before I need to leave for my not-date with a nice lady with a toilet obsession."

Seonghwa drops the subject and pulls out the sample script from his briefcase to go over the details. 

The script they’ve been given is just the bare bones overview with a few choice lines pulled out of the main dialogue to catch his interest, which is not unheard of considering the extent some studios go to avoid information leaks. Heaven forbid a careless actor leaves their entire script laying around on a Starbucks counter somewhere and the whole thing gets uploaded online before filming can even finish.

“You’re going to have to lose some weight for this,” Seonghwa warns him. “You’re playing an emaciated widow so the muscles are going to have to go limp for a bit.”

“You mean I can skip being tortured by Jongho three days out of the week?” Hongjoong throws his hands up and crows loud in victory, heedless of the stares directed at their booth. The staff had been kind enough not to seat anyone in their general vicinity in the back corner, but the restaurant is still slowly filling up and patrons at the front are starting to get wise to the fact a celebrity is in the building. “That’s just a bonus.”

“Don’t let Jongho hear you say that or he’ll use you as a bench press,” Seonghwa says dryly. “It’s a little less than ten kilos though, think you can handle it?”

Hongjoong eyes the empty plate of samosas longingly. Maybe he should have savored the last one a little longer, a last hurrah before he has to switch his diet up something resembling a bird’s. Goodbye buttery Indian food, hello boiled chicken and leafy green kale. “Sounds easy enough. How much time do I have before filming starts?”

“Two months.”

“Easy.” Hongjoong leans back against the sticky vinyl seating and props his fingers over his stomach, twists his and Seonghwa’s legs together beneath the table for balance. “Wooyoung will be thrilled he gets to force feed me those toxic green smoothies he’s always making after our bikram yoga sessions. Anything else I should know about?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes at him before glancing back down to silently read over the requirements listed on the attached contract. “Mmm, looks like they want you to go back to black instead of keeping the red.”

Hongjoong resists the urge to pout. He likes the red, makes him stand out in crowds. He’ll just have to dye it back when filming is finished.

“Other than that, it’s just the usual: no speaking of the project outside of press junkets, no spoiling the endings, bad publicity is not good publicity so keep your head down and out of trouble, etcetera, etcetera.” Seonghwa glances back up with an interesting slant to his mouth, like he can’t quite believe what he’s reading is real, and clears his throat. “There’s a sex scene.”

Hongjoong cringes. “With me?”

“Yes.”

He rubs a palm over his face. Awesome. “Who’s the lucky lady playing the dead wife then? I'm assuming it's the dead wife anyway for a flashback. Can’t wait to smack pelvises together like animals while a hundred cast and crew watch.”

“That role is still in the air as far as I know, but, ah—” Seonghwa rolls his lips between his teeth for a second before continuing. “It’s not with the wife. It’s with Yunho.”

The sound of the restaurant’s noises slowly filters out over the blood rushing in his ears sudden and hot. His face goes a little numb from the shock.

“Excuse me?” Hongjoong croaks.

Seonghwa slides the pack over and taps at a particular paragraph with two fingers. “Says so right here.”

Hongjoong doesn’t bother reading it over in favor of boggling at Seonghwa as if his manager had grown several heads and turned neon purple. “Seonghwa, did you sign me up for the Korean version of Brokeback Mountain?”

Seonghwa winces. “I swear this is the first time I’m seeing it, Hongjoong.”

“You didn’t read this over before you decided to accept?” Hongjoong asks shrilly and crumbles the paper beneath his palms when he slaps them down to the table. Several heads turn again, and he can just barely hear the low whispering gossip already starting up. 

“It’s a Chae Hyungwon flick,” Seonghwa says nervously. “I didn’t read it over because—I’m sorry, but you really can’t afford to say no to this. It’s this or nothing.” He tugs the thin stack of papers back to his side of the table and redeposits the whole of them into his briefcase again. “No one else has been asking for you, Hongjoong,” he quietly confesses. “Not after the interviews you did for Love Comes Knocking.”

Hongjoong breathes deep to calm himself, to cool his nerves and try not to appear completely unhinged in the middle of the day. _Love Comes Knocking_ was the last film he’d been the leading actor in where he played a haggard mailman who struck up an unlikely romance with a reclusive book writer on his daily route. The premise was flimsy, the dialogue awkward and stilted, but it was a paying gig and at the end of the day he managed to make the ugly uniform shorts work for him at least. Even though the film flopped, his ass looked amazing in the huge posters nailed along theater walls. 

Unfortunately, his co-star was a total cow and took pleasure in chewing him out for the littlest of things, like looking at her too long during a scene or reciting his lines perfectly so that her own flubbed speeches made her look that much worse. He’d even gone so far as to chew four cloves of raw garlic before the climax of the movie, their momentous kiss in the middle of a busy street, and took immense pleasure in her gagging afterwards.

He’d made the mistake of mentioning it—several times—in various interviews thinking it would be something funny to laugh about. A fun ‘hah hah’ onset gag to make their onscreen relationship and offscreen _working friendship_ more believable.

Too bad that had backfired and now an entire guild of actresses were after him to make a slew of formal public apologies for abusing his co-star that he outright refused to do.

He’d been veritably blacklisted ever since.

Hongjoong rubs tiredly at his eyes. "Fucking...tell me I'm not a closeted gay cowboy at least."

Seonghwa shakes his head. "Just a closeted gay widow who runs a book shop and paints in his spare time." He leans forward to rest his elbows against the table. "Hongjoong, I know this isn't normally something in your wheelhouse, but Hyungwon asked for _you_. There's pride to be had in that alone."

"I'm aware." Hongjoong tugs at his bangs out of nerves. "Just. There are going to be rumors after this, you know? I'm not sure—and with _him_ of all people, I can't—" He gives up trying to articulate himself and ends up flopping boneless against the table. "This movie better win me Best Actor or I'm doomed."

"You've been doomed." Seonghwa gives his arm a squeeze before waving over their waiter so he can finally pay the bill. "Buck up, there's a Victoria's Secret model waiting to throw bread at some ducks with you."

Hongjoong offers a weak thumbs up. "Fantastic."

**\---------------------------**

The not-date with Sophia isn't particularly fun, especially when she towers over him by a good ten centimeters and speaks so little Korean most of their conversation is in broken English. She’s very sweet though, sports a thick Russian accent, and holds on to the curve of his elbow like a proper girlfriend as they slowly make their way around a pond newly installed outside a luxury mall. He’s not exactly sure what she’s doing hanging around Seoul for the last two months, but he’s not going to complain. Having her around has saved him from certain humiliation when showing up at a club with her on his arm overshadowed the single blurry picture of him shoving his hand under the shirt of that nameless backup dancer.

There are no ducks circling the pond today, so they decide to ditch the bread in the back of Hongjoong's Range Rover in favor of just taking a leisurely stroll.

Donghun props himself up ahead with his giant camera to ‘catch them’ canoodling in public.

Hongjoong hides a yawn behind a palm under the pretense of covering a laugh.

Sophia shifts until she can thread their fingers together. In English, she says, “I go home Saturday.”

Hongjoong squeezes her fingers gently. “How long?”

“For three months. Then America. I was only here for, ah—” Sophia’s eyebrows furrow over the top of her Chanel sunglasses. “How do you call it—work study? Homework?”

“Models have homework?”

She shakes her head as they round the first bend, ignoring Donghun scurrying ahead of them again and propping himself up on a bench. “A college course. Double— _tandem_ language learning as part of the Angel training.” She grins a little bashfully. “My Korean is very poor, but my English is much better?”

Hongjoong gives her knuckles an affectionate pat because, really, Sophia is adorable when she’s not trying to be supermodel hot. “Languages take time. I think you’ve done very well for how long you’ve been here.”

Sophia preens and leans her cheek against the side of his head in thanks. “Thank you.” They pause to smile at each other while Donghun shouts praises and suggestions before continuing along the last curving pathway to the parking area. 

“Are you excited to go home?” Hongjoong asks after another carefully arranged Kodak moment. “I imagine it’s been rough being so far away.”

Sophia nods. “I miss the food. My deda and babushka. My friends.” She gives his chest a poke with the tip of a well manicured finger. “You visit Russia and I will feed you drink to put some hair on your chest.”

“My Russian is worse than your Korean,” Hongjoong genuinely laughs. “You’d be tired of me within a week.”

Sophia hums. “Generous. Maybe three days.”

Donghun's last picture is of Hongjoong covering his mouth to cover his laughter as Sophia giggles beside him. It doesn't get the full spread, but they do make the bottom left corner of Entertainment Weekly's cover with a tagline of, 'Kiss of an Angel: Sophia and Hongjoong still going strong?'

**\---------------------------**

Once Seonghwa faxes over a signed copy of the contract and is given the all clear, someone from Lotte runs over a copy of the full working script to Hongjoong’s home, demanding another signature for the delivery so adamantly Hongjoong is almost afraid he’s going to request it in blood. It takes Hongjoong two hours and a healthy swig of bourbon before he even has the courage to crack the binding and find out exactly what he’s in for with this new adventure. 

The film focuses primarily on Jeong Yunho’s character. Jacob, a Korean man adopted to an English family when he was a baby, is desperately trying to find and reconnect with his birth mother, but finds himself struggling with the language barrier. By day he works at a design firm as part of his visa and by night he’s tracking down potential leads, studying the language, and exploring his homeland. 

Hongjoong bites at his thumb as he reads.

One day, while following an old directory listing to a home on the outskirts of Jeonju that ends up being a now empty lot, Jacob runs into Ji Sungjoon, Hongjoong’s character, stretching outside of his all-in-one home, art studio, and book shop and they share an electric connection standing across from one another. Sungjoon, only 32, is a sad, lonely widow who is still coming to terms with his grief. The book shop is only a small storefront he keeps as homage to his late wife, something she’d desperately wanted for herself before she’d passed away from a lingering illness. Sungjoon is stubborn, refusing to let the books go in a bid to keep her memory alive, and ends up leading Jacob to a section of Korean language books to help him study. Eventually Sungjoon shows off some of his paintings when Jacob questions the ink stains along his shirtsleeves that hang off his body as if Sungjoon is made of nothing but skin and bones barely held together.

Jacob is compelled to come back the next weekend, bringing along his design work for Sungjoon to judge. Sungjoon is delighted, pours over the crisp architectural lines and marvels at Jacob’s talent. 

They come together gently, slowly. Sungjoon begins to heal, gains some of his weight back thanks to Jacob’s gifts of lunch and dinner that he brings along on every visit, and grapples with his new and confusing sexual preference. Jacob finds his birth mother—who isn’t what he expected and casts him out with handfuls of salt as if she’s trying to banish a spirit—and ends up crying on Sungjoon’s doorstep begging for acceptance. For love. 

Hongjoong stops reading there because he can see where the script is going. This is the part where the two characters think o _h_ with just the right amount of inflection, and fall into each other like a head on collision, inevitable and a little cliché, maybe, but sweet. Objectively the story is beautiful and he can definitely see Chae Hyungwon’s flair for bringing out the hidden tragedies in the human experience, but…

It’s dark when Hongjoong drops the script to his floor, leaning back against his plush loveseat and staring at the ceiling.

This is going to make or break his career.

"A gay romance," he groans at the ceiling. "Shit."

Hongjoong isn’t confident it’s going to be the former.

**\---------------------------**

Park Jiyeon calls him the next morning. 

“I heard you’re getting picked up for a Chae Hyungwon film,” she says as soon as the line connects, “and you didn’t even call to tell me? You _bitch_!”

Hongjoong grins against his pillow. His voice is throaty and gravel rough when he finally replies, “Good morning to you too, love of my life.”

Jiyeon cackles. “Hi, babe. But seriously a Hyungwon? Why didn’t you call me so I could congratulate you first? I’m so mad at you!”

Hongjoong rolls over until he’s situated dead center in his bed, starfished out over the sheets so the soft sunlight filtering in through the window can warm his skin. “Who’d you hear this from? I only found out about it yesterday myself.”

“A connection at Lotte.” Hongjoong can almost picture her face as she pouts, twirling a lock of jet black hair around her finger and bouncing her leg impatiently in front of her giant vanity. “They’re actually going to be the head stylist working with you so you’d best suck up to them for my sake.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” Jiyeon says clipped. “I have a vested interest in keeping them happy.”

“You never mentioned dating anyone.”

“And _you_ didn’t bother to call me when the Hyungwon script came through,” she whines. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy for you, but friends are supposed to tell each other things. Important things! Things like crazy amazing movie deals!”

Hongjoong stretches with a groan before smacking his lips together noisily against the receiver just to hear Jiyeon call him old and disgusting. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t quite believe it myself. I’ve been waiting for someone to come busting down the door to tell me, ‘oops! Wrong guy! So sorry, but we’re not interested in a glorified show pony’ and take the script back. Maybe set my contract on fire in a little doggy bag by the front door on their way out.”

“Babe, you are so fucking talented and they picked you because you’ve got the acting chops to back it up,” Jiyeon says firmly in a tone that suggests he might have brain damage if he doesn’t agree. “No one is going to come knocking on your door to take that away. Let’s get brunch so I can tell you how amazing you are in person, yeah?”

Hongjoong’s heart swells with affection. Park Jiyeon is the kind of person that will call you out when you’re being an idiot and then fiercely defend you if someone else tries to do the same. She’s the only good friend he’s managed to keep outside of people he pays and he is continually grateful for her support.

“Wish I could, but it’s diet time. Wooyoung is going to be here soon to force me into spandex and sweat for three hours.” Hongjoong glances at the clock on his bedside table and winces, there’s less than thirty minutes before Wooyoung shows up. 

“Maybe next time, then.” Jiyeon is interrupted by someone’s voice in the background and she leaves him with a rushed, “I’ll text you my next free day. Bye!”

**\---------------------------**

Wooyoung is uncharacteristically kind to him this morning by only forcing him into strange and spine bending positions for two hours instead of his usual three. 

“So tell me about the new movie,” Wooyoung says at the tail end of their last cooldown pose. “Seonghwa mentioned the cast list is making you grouchy.”

Hongjoong takes one last deep breath before letting his jellied legs drop him to his mat, sweat trickling down his neck to soak his workout tank. His lungs are on fire. Even at the beginning of April, it's warm outside and Wooyoung decided it was best to crank up his thermostat until the inside of Hongjoong's apartment resembled a goddamn sauna, like working out in the middle of Satan's asscrack. “Not the _whole_ list.” 

Wooyoung leaves the room to drop the temperature and turn on a fan, coming back with a tall glass of water and a few ice chips already melting in one of Hongjoong’s bowls. Hongjoong drains his glass in two gulps and presses the chilled glass to his overheated skin with a moan of pleasure. 

Wooyoung digs his toes into Hongjoong’s thigh. “You sound like a porn star.”

“Bring me another glass of water and I’ll act like one too,” Hongjoong says with a wink, poking his tongue out in a lewd gesture that makes Wooyoung laugh.

His yoga instructor dutifully brings him the giant pitcher of filtered water from the fridge and they attack it with single minded enthusiasm until it’s two thirds of the way empty and Hongjoong’s stomach actually throbs with how full he is. Hongjoong wonders if he'll slosh when he works up the nerve to stand up and walk.

“Really though, tell me who’s got your panties in a bunch.” Wooyoung rubs a single thin ice cube over the pulsing vein in Hongjoong’s neck to help. “It’s not that woman from the mail carrier movie, is it? I figured she’d show up to maim you if your names were on the same docket.”

“It’s worse.”

Wooyoung blinks down at him. The ice cube pauses over his neck for so long Hongjoong can track the feel of water forming beneath the ice. “Worse?”

Hongjoong blows out an irritated breath. The trickle of ice water over his skin is heavenly but the rapidly disintegrating cube is making that section of his skin go numb and achey. “Jeong Yunho is playing the main lead.”

“Oh! I’ve seen him in a few things.” Wooyoung finally takes his hand, and the ice, away to flop down beside him on the floor. “Dude’s super hot, even San says so and you know how picky he is. What’s wrong with him?” Wooyoung props himself on an elbow to lean over Hongjoong’s face, eyes comically wide. “Does he fart his way through scenes? San had to work with someone like that before and he said it was like trying to talk with sewage in his mouth.”

“That’s nasty.”

“I know, right?” Wooyoung collapses all of his giggly heavy weight onto Hongjoong’s chest without warning. “Gimme the gossip about this Yunho guy.”

“Wooyoung-ie, please tell me you know he’s the one that replaced me at JDB.”

Wooyoung freezes. Hongjoong feels a little guilty for making Wooyoung react this way, but his ousting from the company had been a particularly horrible point in his life and just thinking about sharing the screen with Jeong Yunho, of all people, has his nerves on a razor thin edge. Wooyoung had seen him spiral for months; not sleeping, barely eating, spending more time drinking at celebrity hotspots than he did anything else just to keep a handhold on the limelight while his last remaining sponsorships shriveled up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Hongjoong moodily picks at his shirt clinging to his torso. “I honestly hate his guts and just thinking of this movie, I just—” He kicks a foot angrily in the air reminiscent of a toddler fit. “I hope he flubs every single one of his lines and gets booted from the project.”

Wooyoung wordlessly removes himself from the floor to bang around in the kitchen. Hongjoong leaves him to it, drowsy from the workout and too lazy to find out what exactly his friend is doing. More than likely the blender is going to turn on and he’ll be forced to chug some horrifyingly green beverage that tastes like grass and citrus.

He hears the microwave beep, but no blender.

Hongjoong peeks an eye open when Wooyoung comes back and drops next to his side with a tiny _oomph_ and the smell of hot cheese.

“You know what we should do?” A bowl full of wonderfully salty nachos has miraculously materialized in Wooyoung’s lap instead of the usual green sludge. “We should watch a bunch of his scenes and make fun of his nose or something. You can say all the nasty things you want to say to his face _now_ so you don’t feel compelled to do it later.”

Hongjoong crinkles his nose. “This is not an episode of Gossip Girl, Woo.”

“Have you ever even _watched_ Gossip Girl?”

“I have not, no.” Hongjoong finally props himself up while Wooyoung fiddles with the remote, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Seriously?”

Wooyoung offers him the bowl of artery clogging goodness. “Yeah! Come on, hyung, let’s just watch his greatest hits on youtube or something and talk smack about them. It’ll make you feel better.”

Hongjoong has to begrudgingly admit that Jeong Yunho has undeniable talent for acting, each character they watch on his huge television screen is worlds apart from the last, like day and night, as if he’s not the same person beneath the special effects prosthetics and makeup. Realizing Yunho may actually not have stolen his spot at JDB just because he has a pretty face makes Hongjoong frown at his half-empty bowl of now soggy nachos. 

It’s one thing to have a mortal enemy who is bad at their job and only stumbled into their position because of connections. It’s an entirely different ballpark to find out the enemy is actually stupidly talented and—

Wooyoung pokes his toes into Hongjoong’s legs beneath his coffee table where they’d set up camp on the floor. “He’s good.”

“Whatever, I still think he’s a sneaky snake in the grass.” Hongjoong gives Yunho’s onscreen cowboy persona the evil eye, so distracted by Yunho’s windswept and dusty appearance that he doesn’t immediately catch Wooyoung sliding the bowl back to his side of the table. “I bet he’s a total diva on set.”

"I think you're just saying that because you secretly want to hold his hand and, like, kiss him," Wooyoung informs him around a mouth full of cheesy nachos. "You only ever get this prickly around boys you think are cute."

Hongjoong scowls fiercely and stretches across the table to take his food back. "I do not."

"Like a _cactus_ ," Wooyoung stresses, but deigns to relinquish his ill-gotten goods with minimal bitching.

Hongjoong takes what little is left of his snack and slinks up to his couch to curl around the last remaining crumbs of diet-ruining goodness. On screen, Jeong Yunho is sharing an impassioned kiss with a woman dressed like a saloon girl and his stomach goes a little hot and squirmy at the knowledge he’s going to be on the receiving end of that same kiss somewhere in the next couple of months. Out of disgust. Obviously.

Wooyoung props his chin in his hands and grins at him with both eyebrows quirked in amusement. “Admit it, you think he's hot and you can't wait to see those muddy dungarees up close and personal.”

"I admit nothing." Hongjoong throws the wettest chip of the bunch at Wooyoung’s face and delights in the way Wooyoung screams his disgust at being pelted by soggy velveeta. “But when I see him tomorrow for the first meeting with our director I'll be sure to let him know my yoga instructor is thirsty for his cowboy hat.”

Wooyoung flicks some of the cheese scraped from his cheek at him. “Just try not to fall on his dick too fast.”

"Shut the fuck up."

**\---------------------------**

There’s a certain amount of immunity to pretty faces that comes along with working in movies and entertainment, because popping wood on set just because someone attractive touched him during a charged scene just means a grueling ten minutes of willing it away and hoping the lighting doesn’t get fucked up to the point they have to reset the entire scene again and waste film. Resources. _Time_. Everyone waiting for him to calm the fuck down so they can get their lunch break in before craft services starts packing up.

Because Hongjoong is nothing if not a consummate professional who hates the very mention of his co-star’s name, he should be doubly ready to meet Jeong Yunho face-to-face. Working through Yunho's impressive list of imdb credentials with Wooyoung has definitely helped dampen the kneejerk 'shit he's cute' feelings only barely overshadowed by the jealous dislike simmering low in his guts. He’s even got his paparazzi friendly smile in place behind his gigantic sunglasses he’d swiped from the last party he’d crashed to help disguise any pinched face glaring. 

“Be nice,” Seonghwa hisses in warning against his ear as the sound of feet approaching echoes down the corridor. “And take the sunglasses off, you look like an asshole.”

“I _am_ an asshole, hyung,” Hongjoong tells him, but deigns to remove them anyway. Just as he’s pocketing the accessory, Jeong Yunho rounds the corner.

Though whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t...this.

Jeong Yunho is dressed down in black joggers and an old ratty t-shirt with a snapback flipped backwards to show off his forehead. He’s leaned over the script they’d been sent the previous week while a man nearly as tall as him points at something with one hand and waves a cellphone around in the other. Yunho doesn’t have makeup on. No sunglasses. No designer shirt or bag or shoes. Nothing at all to suggest he’s a highly paid actor who’s already appeared in movies alongside huge celebrities like Leonardo DiCaprio.

If anything it makes Hongjoong hate him more.

He glares. Seonghwa apparently notices the hostility and nudges an elbow pointedly into his side.

“Stop.”

“ _You_ stop,” Hongjoong mutters under his breath before he steels himself and raises a friendly hand in greeting. “Hey, co-star!”

Yunho looks up from the script, goes wide-eyed, and then spins back around to face the other direction to crouch down and put his head between his knees while the guy next to him starts laughing loud and pitchy. Hongjoong blinks. His hand is still awkwardly raised in the air.

“Um,” he says.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy with Yunho says placatingly between giggles. “I’m Song Mingi, Yunho’s manager, and this one is just a little starstruck. Please hold.”

They watch as Mingi starts slapping at Yunho’s back. “Dude, come on. You weren’t even this bad when you met Tom Holland. You’re embarrassing both of us, idiot!”

“You said it was just us and the director,” Yunho groans into his hands. He whispers something Hongjoong can’t quite catch that makes Mingi laugh harder, tears beading up in his eyes. 

Seonghwa clears his throat. “We should probably let the director know you’re here.”

Jeong Yunho straightens quickly and adjusts his snapback so the brim faces forward. From this angle, Hongjoong can just make out the back of his ears turning red. When he finally turns around, Yunho’s face is almost as flushed to match. 

Hongjoong narrows his eyes. What’s this guy acting cute for? What’s his angle?

“I swear I have better clothes than this,” Yunho blurts out. “This was—If I had known _you’d_ be here, I would have—”

“Would have what?” Hongjoong bites back a grin. “Shown up in head to toe Gucci as an intimidation tactic?”

Yunho blanches. Seonghwa inhales sharply beside him like he’s gearing up to break up a cat fight. 

“N-no, I just, um, I wanted to make a better impression than this.” Yunho waves vaguely at his somewhat hobo-chic appearance. He coughs and hides the bottom half of his face behind the script as Mingi and Seonghwa shake hands in the background. “Sorry for being weird, I just—I’m just a really big fan of yours. This is like a dream come true to be working with you.” 

Hongjoong manages a coy, “Oh!” of faux-surprise before Yunho is grinning wide, obviously pleased with himself. 

Shit, he’s got dimples. He’s always been so weak to dimples. Hongjoong can already hear the phantom sound of Wooyoung laughing at him. 

“Well.” Hongjoong licks his lips, suddenly feeling off-footed and off his game. “I look forward to working with such a big fan then.”

Yunho opens his mouth to say something more, but they’re interrupted by a gangly looking man with a mop of curly black hair blinking at them sleepily from the door to his office. He’s got one fist rubbing at his eye and the other clenched to the door handle like he needs it to keep upright.

Chae Hyungwon yawns. “I see my stars have arrived. Come in.”

**\---------------------------**

The office is sparsely decorated with a collection of framed certificates along the back wall and a singular potted plant behind the director's desk that is covered in a tornado's wreck of papers and sticky notes.

Chae Hyungwon is intimidatingly direct. With his fingers steepled beneath his chin and his gaze sharp, he tells them point-blank, “The reception for this film is not going to be kind. I need to know you two _in_ _particular_ are prepared for the nuclear fallout of this project. You can thank the homophobic dipshits running the news outlets who are about to hound you about your sexuality just for playing a role. Though it's not my intention going into this, you two could end up becoming social pariahs for a long time after the premiere.”

Hongjoong wishes Seonghwa were here to answer for him. He and Mingi were left to stand outside for this first interaction with the director, and Hongjoong instantly misses his best friend’s sturdy presence like a limb, because Seonghwa always knows what to say when Hongjoong is tongue-tied and flapping his mouth uselessly hoping sound will fall out. Like now, for instance. He wants to say _oh yeah no this is totally fine with me_ , but the part of himself that’s actually goddamn queer and terrified of being outed has stolen his vocal chords. A good look for him in the middle of his first fucking meeting.

Yunho apparently has no such qualms and shrugs both shoulders. “Won’t bother me. Someone made a whole group on Facebook dedicated to spamming slurs on my instagram account just because I was asked to get shirtless and grind on another male dancer in a music video.” 

Hongjoong watches Yunho lean back in his chair with his heart beating in his throat.

“I’ve heard worse,” Hongjoong says finally after a period of silence and is proud his voice only shakes on the first and third syllables. “It’ll be fine.”

Hyungwon purses his mouth, gaze resting unerringly on Hongjoong’s face as if he sees right through him. “And when your girlfriends have a problem with being connected to the ‘gay actors’ after this is all said and done?”

Yunho adjusts the brim of his cap and mumbles an embarrassed, “Don’t have a girlfriend to worry about and I'm not really...looking.”

For his part, Hongjoong brushes off the concern. Sophia is going to be leaving the country anyway, their companies will be announcing the split two weeks before filming begins and then Hongjoong will have the requisite one week silent treatment from social media before posting something sad and wistful on instagram wishing her well. It won't save him from the worst of the rumors, but it will give him at least a smidgen of heterosexual credibility before filming starts. Something to hide behind at the very least. **** ****

Chae Hyungwon gives them one last beady-eyed glance. It feels like being scrutinized for a test Hongjoong hadn't known he was taking.

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen," Hyungwon finally declares, and reaches over to shake both of their hands before settling back into his plush office chair with a tilted grin, one edge of his mouth quirked up. He sweeps his arms wide. " _Finding Home_ is going to be my magnum opus and I am telling you both now: the second you step out of this doorway, you are under my control. Jeopardize this movie and I will not hesitate to ruin any future career you thought you had in this business."

Hongjoong gulps. Beside him, Yunho nods fervently. Hongjoong doesn't know how much of that is Yunho being a snot-nosed little weasel and how much of it is him straight up agreeing out of terror.

"Good." Hyungwon leans back in his chair satisfied. "Now, I'd like to introduce you to one of our major screenwriters. Or, I guess I should say, _the_ screenwriter since all I really did was bully him into finishing and fixed the typos when he was done."

At Hyungwon’s beckoning, a door to the side of the room they’re in opens to reveal a man the size of a _house_ , his neck thick and bulging, muscular in a way that comes off as a threat despite the shy bowing as he enters the room. 

“Lee Hoseok,” Hyungwon tells them and his voice is fraught with unspoken tenderness. “Who, unfortunately, has demanded to be listed under a pseudonym.”

“Yes, thank you.” Hoseok shoots their director a look. “You could have just introduced me as Wonho, you know.” Hyungwon yawns and waves at him to carry on. Hoseok pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before continuing. “Nice to meet you. I’ll be acting as the wardrobe adviser as an excuse to be on set.”

Hongjoong clenches his hands into fists as a distraction. No one that huge should be this _pretty_.

“I don’t want anyone to know who I am just yet,” Hoseok confesses, clearly uncomfortable. “But I still would like to be directly involved in the filming process, if you two don’t mind.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Perfectly fine by me.”

Yunho quietly offers his own agreement.

Hyungwon huffs at Hoseok's back, busying himself with straightening the piles of papers on his desk. “Honestly, just let me put your real name on this thing. It’s gorgeous.”

“No.”

“But—”

“Hyungwon,” Hoseok says firmly and, incredibly, the director wilts to his desk with a frown and a muttered, “Don’t gotta be mean about it.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Yunho, the kiss-ass, says, reaching over to shake Hoseok’s hand. “Your script is amazing.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s very near and dear to my heart.”

Apparently bored of introductions, Hyungwon claps once, sharp, to get everyone's attention. “Well then, gentlemen, shall we discuss the first round of scheduling?”

**\---------------------------**

“They weren’t really what I was expecting,” Yunho muses as they make their way back towards the entrance hall. Through the double glass doors leading to the parking lot, Hongjoong can just barely make out Seonghwa and Yunho’s manager getting friendly against the hood of his Range Rover.

“What _were_ you expecting? An old man?” 

Yunho pulls his cap off his head to hide the bottom half of his face beneath the brim. “Would it be bad to say yes?”

Hongjoong laughs despite himself and the the fact he still doesn’t like Yunho, hates his stupid face besides. He's decided it would probably be best to at least make the token effort to be friendly so as not to sabotage his tenuous placement on the cast. Hyungwon could still decide to go with someone else up until filming actually begins.

He's just gotten a hand on the door handle when Yunho stops at the entrance and licks his lips once, which are so visibly chapped Hongjoong just wants to grab his chin and scrub at them with the lip balm Jiyeon threw at him from her latest advertisement deal. 

“Would you want to get coffee or, uh, dinner sometime? So we can review the script together.” 

Hongjoong hesitates. “Maybe just coffee.” He pats at his stomach. “Can’t be too bad since I’ve got some weight to lose before June.”

Yunho’s eyes are locked on Hongjoong’s hands, tracking the movement. “That’s a shame.” 

“It is,” Hongjoong agrees, secretly preening at the sort of compliment, before pulling out his phone. Yunho looks a little confused, mouth poked out in a small pout. “Gimme your number so we can set something up.”

“Oh! Right! Yes, yeah.” Yunho fumbles for a moment, finally digging out the latest iphone from the depths of his sweatpant pockets. He scrolls for a while, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Sorry, the company gave this to me the other day and I’m still figuring out how to use it. I haven’t even memorized the new number yet, if you can believe it.”

Hongjoong wants to laugh. What grown adult doesn’t know their own phone number? He holds out his hand. Yunho blinks at him owlishly. “Pull up your keypad and I’ll just call myself. Easier to work with, yeah?”

Yunho nods eagerly and hands it over.

“Were you nice to him at least?” Seonghwa asks on the ride home. “To Jeong Yunho. His manager is really sweet so I’d hate to have to tell him you’re actually a dick outside of the movies.”

Hongjoong leans his head against the passenger window and closes his eyes. “I gave him my number.”

Seonghwa chokes.

He feels the car jerk slightly to the side and resists the urge to smirk. 

“You—what?”

“Gave him my number,” Hongjoong repeats with a grin. It’s always fun to catch Seonghwa off guard like this. “We're going to braid our hair and paint each other's nails and trade gossip about boys. We might even do _brunch_.”

“Don’t scare him off,” Seonghwa warns when they’re pulling in to the entrance of Hongjoong's locked gate. “You can’t afford to lose this project.”

Bitterness floods his mouth. Hongjoong doesn’t slam the car door on the way out, but it’s a near thing. “Quit reminding me.”

Seonghwa follows him inside with a contrite expression. "Hongjoong, I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's fine, just keep bringing up the fact I'm a shit actor without any future prospects." Hongjoong throws his keys at the catchall bowl near the door, uncaring where they land in his rage. They make a satisfyingly sharp jingle when they hit the floor instead. "I know I pay you to keep me in line, but fuck."

Seonghwa tugs him into a hug and holds Hongjoong's head to his chest, fingers dipped into his hair and petting gently along his spine. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to upset you."

The heat of Seonghwa's hand bleeds through the thin material of his shirt, a warm heady weight. Hongjoong wedges himself closer so he can slide his mouth against the barely there grain of Seonghwa's stubble. "Kiss it and make it better."

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa says in warning, but he's fisting Hongjoong's shirt and scraping his nails over Hongjoong's scalp when he does it, so Hongjoong decides it's worth ignoring to pull his manager into his bedroom, push him down to the very expensive linens, and go to work obtaining a wicked case of beard burn as compensation. 

**\---------------------------**

The next day, Hongjoong wakes up hanging off the side of his couch with a pleasant ache in his jaw and still faintly buzzed from a night of working through a bottle of expensive wine Donghun had sent over after nabbing the corner of Entertainment Weekly. A small thank you for cooperating so the photog could sell his story for a not insignificant amount of money. Seonghwa is conspicuously absent, though not unusual for the morning after. Hongjoong never asks him to stay so Seonghwa never does.

Jongho enters his vision with an unimpressed look on his face, holding Hongjoong’s half-dead phone over his nose so Hongjoong can see the handful of texts and missed calls. There's an alert that his name has popped up on Soompi of all places.

“Rough night?”

Hongjoong smacks his lips together. His throat feels gritty and thick, like he'd swallowed cotton and didn't bother trying to wash it down. It tastes like something has _died_ in his mouth overnight and he grimaces. "Maybe?"

Jongho bullies him upright and points Hongjoong in the direction of his bathroom. "Go get washed up while I go through your kitchen and throw out everything you're not supposed to eat for the next few months."

There's a protest sitting on the tip of his tongue that Hongjoong bites back in favor of getting clean. He has to brush his teeth twice, before and after his shower, because his mouth is seriously grotesque with a mixture of wine and the aftertaste of numbing lube still clinging to his tonsils. When he looks in the mirror and realizes his eyebags have somehow doubled overnight, he makes himself as presentable as possible and pretends he's not having a midlife crisis over playing in the same movie with goddamn Jeong Yunho.

Who he hates.

Who he's going to have to _makeout with for the world to see._

He wanders back in to find Jongho throwing everything that has more than approximately zero grams of sugar and anything remotely resembling a carb from his pantry into a a plastic tote. It's not one Hongjoong recognizes from his own stash in the garage, so his trainer had probably stopped at the hardware store on the way in. ****

“What do you want to do with all all your banned food?” Jongho holds a box of Fruity Pebbles up with a grimace. _Snob_. “Most of this is going to go bad before you’re allowed to put weight back on.”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Donate what you can and throw out the rest. Or take it home to your lovely wife, I don’t care.”

“Please don’t call Yeosang my lovely wife,” Jongho groans. “We’re not even—”

“You two are so fucking married it gives me literal hives,” Hongjoong interrupts. “Dude, please, he makes you sack lunches before you leave the apartment. Daily.”

Jongho colors and turns away so he’s speaking more to the cabinets than he is to Hongjoong. “He’s a nutritionist, he just wants to help.”

“I watched him kiss your cheek that one time I came over to pick up those evil weight bands you forced on me for _Glove’s Off_ ,” Hongjoong continues mercilessly. In a poor approximation of Yeosang’s low register, he simpers, “Oh Jongho darling, please take this sack of roasted chicken and boiled greens and these almonds I’ve activated with my love.”

“That is not what Yeosang says or even what he sounds like.” Jongho throws a box of crackers at his head. “And what even is an activated almond?”

Hongjoong shrugs, debating opening up the box of now forbidden contraband for a taste of empty calories. “Something I saw on the internet, I don’t know.”

“You’re weird.”

“And _you’re_ married,” Hongjoong says simply. He sends a text to Yeosang that’s just a sad face and a sympathetic _your husband is over here denying you act like a 50s housewife._

_Not my husband,_ Yeosang sends back. 

Jongho opens another cabinet and sighs, loud. “What did we say about keeping cake mix around when you know you can’t cook?”

“It’s just add water, Jongho. That’s not cooking.” Hongjoong types out, _but you activate his almonds right?_ And has to turn on his side to hide his snickering against the couch cushions.

“You still have to bake it in the oven,” Jongho points out as he bends down to cover the first plastic tote with a lid and pull out a second larger one. “The last time you tried to use your oven you almost burned down your house.”

When he looks back at his phone, Yeosang has sent a picture of Seonghwa’s face scrunched up in disgust they all use as a meme along with _don’t know what that means, don’t want to know what that means_ and _tell hubby to bring back kfc or i’m not going to have his robe and slippers waiting for him when he gets home_.

 _Harsh_ , Hongjoong replies and finally drops his phone to the table so he can watch Jongho bang around in his kitchen. “You’re exaggerating. Just because I fell asleep while a pizza was in there _one time_ doesn’t mean I’m going to make the house explode trying to bake a cake.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Jongho says and closes the last of the cabinets, the lid to the newest now full tote, and turns back with his hands on his hips to survey the void of nutrition now residing in Hongjoong’s kitchen. “We should probably hit up the grocery store before anything else.”

Hongjoong gets up to drop the box of crackers to the donation pile, for once listening to the tiny voice in his head begging him not to ruin his not yet begun diet, and grabs his keys. “I guess. Are you going to bully me into buying quinoa?”

“For starters.” Jongho inclines his head to the side. “Remind me: you’re not allergic to kale, right?”

Hongjoong is already pulling on the ridiculous bucket hat he hides under for grocery runs and sliding his feet into a pair of obnoxiously bedazzled Gucci slides. “I am the _most_ allergic to kale.”

“Great! We’ll pick up at least three bunches.”

Their first stop is to a local shelter to drop off the totes of food. Hongjoong watches two men help Jongho unload and secrets an extra handful of bills into their hands while their supervisor isn’t looking. 

He shadowed a homeless man for two days as part of research for a role and witnessed how little the people staying there were allowed to keep at the end of each work day: some for the room and board, some for the supervisors coordinating jobs, some for the luxury of renting a blanket for the night, and almost never enough to save to get back on their feet. He had to sell his second car to afford it, but the morning of the third day Hongjoong showed up at the shelter with enough clothing to dress an army, envelopes containing enough cash to pay for a modest extended stay at a hotel, and paid out of pocket for anyone willing to go to rehab.

The news picked up the story and called him a saint, which made him feel even worse, because Hongjoong had only done it out of a selfish desire to make this one pocket of human suffering go away. A one time payment to do good so he could feel better about himself and nothing more.

The guys give him discreet nods in thanks and hide the small windfall of cash in their back pockets. Hongjoong doesn’t say anything either, too busy trying to look casual. It won’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things other than make Hongjoong feel a little less like a spoiled brat standing around making everyone else do his dirty work.

Jongho ferries them to an egregiously overpriced supermarket in the heart of Apgujeong that specializes in, like, gym rat culture or something. Every other aisle seems to be populated by women on their way to pilates, _from_ pilates, and muscular guys in ripped tanks arguing over protein powder. Jongho loves it here, because of his job and the chance to expand his client list by doling out business cards. Hongjoong just props his sternum along the top of the shopping cart handles and lets Jongho drag him bodily through the displays of supplements and crunchy new age skin care products—oils and clays and essential oils that do nothing but sit and stink up Hongjoong’s bathroom when he tries them.

The rows of organic vegetables and vegan meal replacement shake that pass as food feels like one long liminal space, a place Hongjoong doesn’t necessarily belong as he follows behind Jongho picking up different boxes and cross checking the ingredients on some app on his phone and Yeosang. Hongjoong sneaks a package of candied jordan almonds in his cart when Jongho isn’t looking.

It’s only when they’re checking out, Hongjoong dutifully pulling out his wallet to pay for the lot, that Jongho sees the unhealthy snack and shoots him a very judgmental and shitty glare from the end of the conveyor belt. Hongjoong blows him a kiss before swiping his card. The cashier keeps glancing up from her register like she wants to say something and struggling with indecision on whether or not it’s appropriate to ask for an autograph or a picture while at work. Hongjoong offers up a PR friendly smile and leaves because he’s not really interested in getting accosted while trying to bag up mayonnaise substitute and fiber supplements.

“You know she recognized you,” Jongho whispers to him when they finally get out to the parking lot. 

“Lots of people recognize me,” Hongjoong grumps back. “Like the pap camped out across the street trying to run into traffic so he can get over here. Act natural.”

Jongho, bless him, immediately turns around and makes eye contact with a man carrying a huge camera around his neck, because his _act natural_ was almost always the opposite. Hongjoong can see the paparazzo brighten up at the acknowledgement through his periphery. For his part, Hongjoong just elbows Jongho to get his attention back on track and continues trying to throw everything into the back of his car before the idiot with the camera can get too close.

“Kim Hongjoong!”

 _Ignore him_ , he tells himself, reaching for the last bags as Jongho returns the cart. _Ignore him and he’ll go away_.

“Kim Hongjoong! How is Sophia?” The question is followed by a frankly ridiculous amount of clicks, as if the guy needs thirty pictures of Hongjoong closing his trunk. “How serious are you guys? Is she staying in Korea for you?”

Hongjoong closes his car and walks away, trying his best to ignore the questions without letting the annoyance show on his face. Jongho still hasn’t returned. Hongjoong can see him being waylaid by a woman dressed head to toe in athleisure, internally groaning at having to try and get this bloodsucker to leave him alone without backup.

“She’s fine, thanks for asking.” Hongjoong grits his teeth. He has to dodge the next few questions about what else Sophia may be getting up to, when is she going home, how did she feel about taking Park Jiyeon’s place—

That last one gives him pause. “Jiyeon is just a good friend,” Hongjoong answers with a laugh, and he can’t wait to get her on the phone after this because they hadn’t been the source of gossip for at least two years now so this line of questioning is completely out of left field. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be heading home and getting these groceries in my fridge.”

The paparazzo’s face twists up in disappointment. Just as he’s opening his mouth to fire off another round of questions, Jongho finally makes his triumphant appearance, standing between Hongjoong and the camera with a scowl and his arms crossed. 

“Get out of here,” Jongho says with his voice pitched low. Hongjoong resists the urge to snort. Jongho is about as scary as a baby deer, all doe-eyed and adorable. His arms may be corded up thick with muscle, but they’re used almost exclusively for opening pickle jars and keeping Yeosang lifted in the air when his roommate tries to fight people at parties. 

Camera dick takes one look at Jongho’s face and gives a muttered, “Fucking bodyguards.” 

They both watch him scamper back to his car parked across the street at a luxury retail outlet.

“Remind me to never get famous,” Jongho says with a frown as soon as they pull out of the parking lot. “Do you seriously get your picture taken just for buying groceries?”

Hongjoong shrugs, unconcerned. “Honestly, not really, but it sounded like he was trying to manufacture some kind of hidden scandal with Sophia and Jiyeon so it’s probably just a really slow time of year. Desperation makes you do weird things.”

“I don’t get it, but okay.” Jongho clears his throat. “How do you feel about grabbing The Colonel on the way back? Yeosang sent me a request so…”

“Only if I’m allowed to keep a biscuit for myself.”

“Just one,” Jongho finally agrees after a moment of deliberation. “No extra butter or anything either.”

Hongjoong pouts. "That's mean."

"That's life." Jongho punches in directions for the nearest KFC in Hongjoong's GPS. "You've got weight to lose for a movie, too much 'last chance' food and you'll be set back an extra two weeks and I, for one, am not going to deal with your bitching when you can only eat birdseed and water at the end of it."

**\---------------------------**

Seonghwa sends him a picture of an article in the middle of Star News featuring a picture of him loading the back of his car with groceries and two paragraphs about Sophia’s modeling diet rubbing off on Hongjoong’s own eating habits. Seonghwa follows that up with a thumbs up emoji, encouragement for landing a small section of a rag mag just for buying goddamn _kale_ , and a reminder he’s got a table read for the first half of the script in three weeks. 

Jeong Yunho has apparently seen the same article and sends him a nearly identical text followed by _can't even buy groceries these days huh?_

 _No,_ Hongjoong types back after grimacing at his phone. He'd honestly forgotten about giving Yunho his number the other day. The knowledge his soon to be coworker can easily get in touch with him leaves a sour taste in his mouth. San and Seonghwa both would probably call him a drama queen, but it's fucking _Jeong Yunho_ and Hongjoong can think of at least twenty people on the board of 'Make Kim Hongjoong Apologize for Eating Garlic' he'd rather speak to more.

He sends an additional a _t least I wasn't buying anything incriminating_ just so he doesn't come off totally standoffish. 

Hongjoong thinks that's going to be the end of the conversation until his phone pings again and Yunho has decided to share his own tales of woe when it comes to dealing with inventive paparazzi and celebrity gossip magazines. Apparently an intern with an eye for crafting somewhat believable conspiracy theories got their grubby mits on a picture of Yunho buying chapstick at a convenience store that just so happened to have a cardboard cutout of Park Shinhye, advertising a new BB cream of all things, and decided it was a sign the two were dating. Because he stopped in front of the cardboard image for more than two seconds to apply his new purchase.

 _I've never even met her!_ Yunho bemoans through text and Hongjoong has to hide a snort of amusement behind a hand. It sounds ridiculous, but the amount of rumors he's been the leading man in...it doesn't surprise him Yunho has dealt with the same. He sends Yunho a sympathetic text that says as much.

Fifteen minutes later, when Hongjoong is just starting to really get into stretching his arms and legs out in preparation for more yoga, without Wooyoung's direction since his instructor is off gallivanting around Jeju with San for a weekend retreat, Yunho sends him a final text: _Wanna get coffee and trade war stories?_

Ordinarily Hongjoong would say no since hanging out with Jeong Yunho sounds like a nightmare. But he's been cooped up in his house for a solid week without any real human interaction and he's bored. And Seonghwa isn't here to tell him no. And he could probably make Yunho buy him food since he was such a big fan and, really, Hongjoong isn't going to say no to free food. 

Jeong Yunho apparently lives not even three blocks away at the shiny new highrise apartment complex and they agree to meet up at a bistro Hongjoong frequents that just so happens to be the midway point between both their homes. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know what it’s like to not be famous. He’d never gone through that awkward phase of popularity being too much and not enough all at once and phased directly into expecting recognition every time he stepped out of the house. Seonghwa likes to tell him he needs to get his ego under control, and maybe he should, it's just being in the spotlight is the only place Hongjoong knows how to thrive. Demanding everyone's attention just by walking into a room is all he's ever really known, if he faded into obscurity _now_ he'd have no idea how to function as a person.

Jeong Yunho, it seems, doesn’t have the same feelings about stardom. ****

He's flushed red the entire time, nervously glancing around the room at everyone looking at the pair of them propped up at a tiny table close to the back door--and easy escape if they really need it--and has actually signed the back of a woman's receipt when she asked for an autograph instead of telling her to fuck off. Hongjoong usually stares at fans until they go away, metaphorical tails tucked between their legs in embarrassment.

The only consolation is Yunho has decided to wear something better than a ratty shirt and sweatpants. The snapback is still present, but today he's dressed like a celebrity should be: sinfully tight jeans, a black button down Hongjoong had actually considered picking up from All Saints, dressier shoes. It almost looks like he's dressed for an interview for Forbes or someshit, Hongjoong reluctantly has to give him points for presentation.

“So,” Hongjoong starts when they’re finally left in peace, relatively speaking considering the stares and faint whispers. “Have they got you on a diet for the new movie too?”

Yunho shakes his head. “Not really. The only change I have to endure is getting my hair cut. It was going to be a full buzzcut, but Mingi, my manager you met the other day, anyway he managed to talk them into only cutting the sides down.” 

Hongjoong leans his chin against his palm and pouts. “Damn. And here I have to lose enough weight to make my cheeks hollow _before_ they add makeup.”

Yunho offers up a pinched and worried look. “They can’t just use CGI for that? Special effects makeup?”

“Hyungwon is known for being physically demanding when it comes to his actors.” Hongjoong swirls the sad no milk, no sugar, no creamer black coffee he’d purchased earlier. It sloshes up the side of the mug and over the tips of his fingers on the last pass. “At least I don’t have to go full Christian Bale in The Machinist. I only have to lose enough to not show up fat for the first day of filming.”

Yunho scowls harder. He’d ordered a tall glass of sweetened tea and a bagel. Hongjoong’s mouth waters every time he glances down and sees the scrape of cream cheese oozing from the middle. “You’re not _fat_ by any means.” Yunho taps his fingers restlessly against the tabletop. “Hey, want to get fro-yo after this? We can call it one last hurrah before you have to really commit to the demon diet from hell.”

“It’s a date,” Hongjoong says playfully. It's worth it to see the way Yunho's eyes widen idiotically before he’s nodding enthusiastically and tugging Hongjoong up by the sleeve of his sweater. 

“I know a really cool place that just opened up. The seats are these giant hollowed out eggs that spin around if you pick your feet up off the floor.”

“Can you even fit in those?” Hongjoong wonders out loud. “I mean, you’re so tall, I can’t imagine you’d fit in an egg chair.”

Yunho grins bashfully again, ducking his face down to hide under the brim of his snapback. Hongjoong wishes he’d cut it out. The cutesy act wasn’t at all endearing. 

When Yunho finally looks back up, there’s a playful slant to his mouth. “You'll fit in just fine then.”

“Hey! Rude!” Hongjoong smacks at Yunho’s back on the way out the door while Yunho laughs, dodging his swipes and twirling his keys around one finger.

Yunho catches Hongjoong’s last not-quite-joking punch with one hand. “Come on, I’ll even give you a ride.”

“You better,” Hongjoong says faintly. What the _fuck_ , what were Yunho’s hands so huge for? Yunho’s fingers encircle his wrist with room to spare. They could probably span the width of his _thighs_ , a dizzying realization that Hongjoong has no idea what to do with. 

The egg chairs at the upscale frozen yogurt place are huge. Yunho smugly folds himself into one chair and flicks a tiny spoonful of vanilla at Hongjoong’s face as revenge for implying Yunho would have to crack his back in half just to fit. Despite himself, Hongjoong has _fun_. The laughing kind of fun instead of the x-rated fun he’s used to with Seonghwa or sweet boys at parties in LA. 

Yunho is still his worst enemy, that doesn’t change, but the experience of hanging around with him isn’t as godawful horrible as Hongjoong pictured it to be.

**\---------------------------**

The next time Seonghwa drops by with his usual stack of tabloids, he throws a newly printed copy of Celebrity Now! into Hongjoong’s lap with his eyebrows raised near to his hairline. “What’s this?”

Hongjoong blinks innocently up from his phone screen where he is absolutely _killing it_ on SuperStar. “What is what?”

Seonghwa flips the magazine open to reveal a blurb about Hongjoong and Yunho laughing together over frozen yogurt. His manager’s voice is entirely too smug for Hongjoong’s liking when he says, “You hate him, huh?”

Hongjoong lets the offensive piece of propaganda slide to the floor and resumes his game. “Definitely.”

Never one to be ignored, Seonghwa squeezes his face in front of Hongjoong’s screen and smirks. “So the fact you were seen together having a fro-yo playdate in the middle of the day with your evil rival when you’re supposed to be on a crash diet?” He pokes a finger into Hongjoong’s cheek just to be a bastard about it. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Don’t call me a lady,” Hongjoong says and pretends to bite at Seonghwa’s finger. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment from hunger. A _fever dream_ for everyone involved, especially me.”

“Uh huh,” Seonghwa deadpans. “I totally believe you. Just admit you think he’s an alright guy who just happened to sign with the right company at the wrong time.”

Hongjoong bats at Seonghwa’s hands trying to dig into his sides in the hopes of initiating a tickle fight with a scowl, music app momentarily forgotten. “Leave it alone, Seonghwa. I’m just trying to be a good coworker.” 

His manager finally relents and backs up enough to rub a hand over Hongjoong’s fringe. “Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Hongjoong says, even though that’s certifiably untrue considering his track record for getting photobombed at parties. He digs a finger through one of Seonghwa’s belt loops with a needy, hopeful whine caught up in his throat. “You should come down here.”

“Hongjoong.”

“Just one little smooch.” Hongjoong blinks up at him with faux-innocence. “Please?”

“It’s never just one with you,” Seonghwa laughs. He sounds pissed about it, but he also leans over to plant a biting kiss to the edge of Hongjoong’s mouth anyway. Seonghwa’s hand is rough when he grabs at his jaw and Hongjoong breathes hard through his nose at the shock of heat the action sends pooling into his stomach. “This is the last time, okay? No more trying me on just because you’re bored after today.”

“Promise,” Hongjoong breathes against the whorl of Seonghwa’s thumb as it traces along his bottom lip, mentally twisting his fingers together at the lie, and reaches for the clasp of Seonghwa’s belt.

**\---------------------------**

Per contractual obligations, Hongjoong is diligent about his diet, about bringing Wooyoung in to work him over and stretch out his limbs. He makes regular appointments to see his GP to make sure his body isn’t doing anything crazy now that he’s not inhaling carbs 24/7. 

By the end of May, just before the cutoff point, Hongjoong has dropped 9kg and working on the last stubborn bit of body fat clinging to his ribs. Honestly, he’s proud of himself. He misses being able to eat Fruity Pebbles—to hell with Jongho’s opinions on sugary cereals—but he’ll at least get to start packing the weight back on once filming starts on the second half of Sungjoon’s sweeping romance.

He still hasn’t read the full script. Every time he gets to _the scene_ , the one where Jacob stands at Sungjoon’s door hoping for more than a friendly group hug, his stomach lurches so hard Hongjoong has to put down the script to breathe deep against his knees and swallow back wave after wave of stinging bile. Sophia’s management team sent the go-ahead for the mutual split to be announced this morning, by which they mean they’ve dropped hints on her Instagram and posted something vague on twitter already, so Hongjoong no longer has the security blanket of a fake relationship to hide behind when thinking about kissing a man on screen gets to be too much. 

It’s just a movie. He’s starred in countless movies by now, has kissed who knows how many nameless actresses in front of thousands of crew and fans alike. This _shouldn’t_ be any different: it’s a job, like any other, under an influential director’s name, a shoe-in for a best supporting lead award or best actor nomination. The fact he’s going to be in a romance with another man shouldn’t make him this _uneasy._ He’d done plenty of that in high school with the drama club he’d joined in between filming schedules, playful kissing in front of a laughing audience. Doing this on the big screen is—

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft ping of an incoming message. Yunho has sent him a godawful picture of a cat surrounded by pink emoji hearts and an apologetic _mingi told me about sophia, hope you’re doing alright_.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to throw his phone against the nearest wall. 

Fucking goody-goody Jeong Yunho trying to weasel his way into Hongjoong's good graces. It's not going to work.

Not now.

Not _ever_.


	2. Dénouement

The first days on set are awash with getting to know the crew and endearing himself to the stylist team in charge of making him not _pretty_ but the kind of starving artist chic most models wish they could pull off without several layers of makeup and creative contouring. Hongjoong hadn’t bothered trying to see Yunho outside of the odd fro-yo not!date and two script readings, so it’s not entirely surprising when Yunho walks on set at 6AM with containers of coffee for everyone that he takes one look at Hongjoong’s sunken cheeks and instantly droops like someone’s come in and kicked his puppy.

“I see the diet worked.” Yunho offers him a large steaming styrofoam cup, mouth pinched on one side where he’s biting the inside of his cheek. Hongjoong notes Yunho's lips are _still_ chapped and uses every ounce of willpower he has left not to throw the tub of vaseline the team is using for the edges of his old man Sungjoon wig at Yunho's face. “I got you a plain coffee, thought you might appreciate the caffeine.” 

Hongjoong accepts the treat with a sigh. “Thanks, man. Really.” Yunho hovers for a moment longer as Hongjoong takes a first blissful sip of caffeinated heaven. Hongjoong raises his brows, waiting. "Yes?"

Yunho adjusts the brim of his hat, a nervous habit apparently and one that's going to get on Hongjoong's nerves. "We're not very close, I know, but I just...are you okay? With the breakup and everything."

Sitting in the middle of the makeup trailer isn't exactly the place Hongjoong wants to have this particular conversation. Especially when they're in a room full of industry people he doesn't know or trust, talking about a fake relationship with a model he stepped out with only because Seonghwa managed to sweet talk her PR firm. 

"It's fine," Hongjoong settles on after a moment of indecision. " _I'm_ fine. It was a mutual thing, no hard feelings, yadda yadda." Yunho gives him big soulful eyes like he wants to say something else and Hongjoong thinks, _no, we're not doing this today._ He uses the coffee to gesture at the plastic sheet they've got draped around his own shoulders. "Hey, isn't it about time for you to get gussied up for the first run through?"

Yunho sheepishly bows out, hand tugging on his cap as he backs out of the room. 

It _is_ really good coffee though. Hongjoong finishes the last dregs as the wig fitting begins.

**\---------------------------**

In his years of working in the industry, filming had always been a nonlinear experience. Some days they’d film scenes from the middle of the script, then the beginning, filler for the ending and then circling back to the absolute start depending on location availability and the weather. Hyungwon apparently operates differently: they start with location one, scene one, and work their way forward. The filming schedule is so meticulously thought out with extra spaces in between to allow for inclement weather and accidents on set that they can treat the script as an ongoing narrative.

Hongjoong doesn’t have to flip around in his script constantly. He doesn’t have to read forward or backward to remember how his character is supposed to react at any given point in time because he’s, essentially, living in the moment in the same way. When it calls for Sungjoong to be painting for two days in the packet, Hongjoong knows he’s going to be covered in acrylic and charcoal for two days himself.

It’s a nice change of pace, if a little unorthodox.

And Yunho...well.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Seonghwa whispers against his ear. He’s standing way too close for comfort in a semi-public setting. Seonghwa is also obnoxiously eating a bagel covered in cream cheese because Seonghwa lives to make him suffer.

Hongjoong bats him away, but internally he has to agree. Yunho acting is so different from Yunho who walked in that morning with a smile on his face and coffee for everyone in his arms. It’s like watching someone become possessed in real time. Yunho goes from nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet, swinging his arms childishly in a suit, while everyone waits for the go ahead to roll film. The second the clapperboard slams shut, Yunho instantly morphs into the determined yet quietly sad Jacob, trudging through work so he can reconnect with his heritage in his limited downtime. 

It’s strange witnessing Yunho frown, like he’s seeing something illicit. Hongjoong supposes Yunho just has one of those faces that's impossible to imagine sad or angry or any combination of the two. Seonghwa tugs him back towards the craft services setup after the first cut and Hongjoong is oddly grateful to get away.

“He’s alright,” Hongjoong finally admits once they’re out of earshot of all the microphones. “The haircut makes his head look weird.”

“Mighty rich coming from a man who can’t eat anything but boiled chicken and celery. Glass houses and stones do not mix,” Seonghwa informs him. He punctuates the statement by biting a huge chunk out of his bagel. “Also the shaved sides makes him look hot as hell. You’re going to be fielding a lot of questions about his makeout skills after this one.”

Hongjoong flushes. He’d almost forgotten that little tidbit in the script.

“Shut up,” he settles on maturely. “Go bother someone else with your gross bagel breath.”

Seonghwa wanders off, though not before blowing him a kiss over the edge of his food.

**\---------------------------**

Watching Yunho deliver his lines behind the scenes, Hongjoong has the bitter realization that JDB did the right thing by replacing him. He doesn’t have to like it, and probably never will, but Yunho’s talent is undeniable even if the new haircut makes him look like the worst sort of hipster douche. That doesn’t make seeing Yunho parade around with the JDB logo emblazoned across his undershirt any easier and bitter jealousy settles like coiled barbed wire in his stomach.

Hongjoong internally pouts all the way through his three minute silent walk around an empty facsimile of a bookshop they’ve built, face carefully neutral. He has to think about his childhood pet rabbit when it comes time for him to stand at one of the green screen windows gazing forlornly out towards an as yet created landscape, a single trail of tears beading along his lashline for dramatic effect. These first moments are little more than storyboarding, the actual scene will be played out in the house the studio has rented out in Jeonju, but it is nice to get a feel for Ji Sungjoon before real filming begins. 

Ji Sungjoon is going to be the one role he can’t rely on method. He doesn’t have the experience for it—finding a lonely young widow open to new experiences to shadow isn’t feasible, nor is it something Hongjoong necessarily wants to subject himself.

Yunho grins and waves at him from the edge of the set when Hongjoong is finished. Hongjoong, despite the ugly thoughts about Yunho’s haircut, waves back.

 _I hate everything about this project_ , Hongjoong sends to San while he waits for Seonghwa to come back from chatting up Yunho’s manager. _Jeong Yunho acts like a labradoodle._

 _dude bro get over yourself im sure he’s fine_ , San responds only moments later, followed by a bunch of laughing emojis and an extra _sneak me some pics the spank bank could use a refresher._

Hongjoong thinks about taking pictures of Yunho sweating on the treadmill in the studio gym. He also thinks about gagging, which he does and records a clip to send to San. _How’s that for the spank bank?_

San bombards him with eggplant and water splashing emojis because his friend is terrible. Hongjoong would drop him in a heartbeat if San wasn't one of the few people he can trust in this industry, especially after getting drunk together and commiserating about staying closeted to remain marketable.

Seonghwa chooses that moment to come back from _somewhere_ flushed and grinning, holding his phone in one fist like he’s afraid it’s going to fly away. Odd. Hongjoong bites the inside of his cheek. “What’re you so smiley about?”

“Nothing,” Seonghwa waves him off, still pink and grinning far too wide. “Don’t worry about it. Ready to go home for the day?”

“Am I ever,” Hongjoong groans. “Can we stop by Starbucks on the way back? I need to smell a frappuchino or I’m going to go insane.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “You’ll live. Yeosang is supposed to meet us at your place to go over your diet for next month and we’re already running late.”

“And whose fault is that?” Hongjoong mutters under his breath, but dutifully follows his best friend and manager to the parking garage, Jeong Yunho temporarily forgotten.

**\---------------------------**

Sweat beads along his hairline and drips off the end of his nose as Hongjoong pants raggedly against his sheets, bent over the edge of his bed with his legs spread—waiting. Seonghwa is taking his sweet time tonight opening him up. Hongjoong is used to being prepped with precision and urgency, he’s not accustomed to getting fingered for ages and ages and ages as he whines and begs for Seonghwa to fuck him the way he wants—hard, fast, a little mean. 

“Will you just hurry it up already?” Hongjoong begs for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. “Fuck, Seongseong—”

Seonghwa hushes him with a slap to his ass. “Shh, I’m doing this for your benefit.” 

Hongjoong pitifully hides another cracked moan against his mattress. Splayed out like this, he knows the knobs of his spine rise up prominently, his ribs stand out like piano keys with only a thin layer of skin and muscle, and even knowing the result is because of an important role the knowledge of how skeletal he looks right now makes him feel restless with the urge to squirm away or cover himself. That’s why he’d begged his friend to do this for him tonight—to make him feel pretty for a few minutes when his confidence had been kicked low by his diet and Jeong Yunho’s _stupid fucking face_.

Seonghwa’s thumbs slide over his rim before holding him open, the fat blunt head of his cock teasing along the seam of Hongjoong’s ass and he shoves his hips back to try and get Seonghwa where he needs it most. He gets another slap to his ass for his effort.

“How is any of this for _my_ benefit when you won’t even let me get off?” Hongjoong glares over his shoulder at Seonghwa’s smirking face. “You’re horrible.”

“No, I’m exceedingly nice to you.” Seonghwa leans down to place a stinging bite at the base of his spine, leaving a cruel sucking mark to the same spot when Hongjoong hisses from the ache and fucks his hips down to get away. “You can either enjoy this while it lasts or you can keep complaining, I’m not going to speed up.”

His heart feels like a fist in his chest, knocking against his ribs and beating the air from his lungs. Hongjoong drops his head back down and obediently waits for Seonghwa to stop thumbing him open, tongue thick and useless in his mouth.

Seonghwa takes mercy on him, finally, and pushes Hongjoong’s legs a little wider for room as he works his length in and in with every twitching jerk of his hips until he’s bottoming out, the wet slap of lube and skin echoing across the bedroom.

“Okay down there?” Seonghwa grunts, hips flush to Hongjoong’s ass. “You’re too quiet.”

“Peachy,” Hongjoong gasps against the strain in his legs and his back. “Fuck, you can move now.”

And Seonghwa does in the same rough way Hongjoong prefers, fingertips leaving half-formed bruises on his hips and Seonghwa scraping his nails over Hongjoong’s spine. This part always feels like a race, like if Hongjoong doesn’t get off first then he never will and he shifts one leg up to the bed for a better angle, working one hand down to fist himself as he lets the rocking motion of their bodies guide his hand.

Seonghwa laughs somewhere in the middle, bent low over Hongjoong’s back so he can wiggle his fingers beneath Hongjoong’s chest to pinch along his ribs and his nipples. “Bet you won’t last another thirty seconds.”

Hongjoong shivers. He clenches down around Seonghwa buried in his ass just to hear him wheeze between his teeth. “Bet you won’t last fifteen,” he challenges, though the creep of his own orgasm is _right there_ , so really…

He comes first, and it’s a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about his own pleasure while Seonghwa chases his orgasm. He can quietly reorient himself in his body while Seonghwa mouths expletives against his neck and groans low and long, dick twitching in the oversensitive clench of his hole and Hongjoong winces a little from the sensation. 

Hongjoong’s whole body feels rubberized and wobbly to the point he doesn't think he could trust himself to move from the bed any time soon. Thankfully Seonghwa brings him a bottle of water after his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“If this is about the sour gummies in the pantry, I swear San left those here the last time he came over. I haven’t even touched the bag,” Hongjoong quickly denies. “You can ask him!”

Seonghwa pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not about the candy, Hongjoong. About this. Us."

Hongjoong delicately takes a sip of water. “What about it?”

He’s done an excellent job thus far not thinking too hard about sleeping with his manager who is also his best friend. Seonghwa has been in his orbit since before Hongjoong can remember, a solid place to land when his foundations are rocked by celebrity gossip and unverified rumors. He was convenient. Hongjoong hadn’t ever let himself want for anything else.

Seonghwa says nothing for a long time. “You don’t see this going anywhere, right?”

“Way to kill the afterglow.”

“I’m serious, Hongjoong. Answer the question.”

Hongjoong curls into himself and pouts, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before shaking his head.

Bizarrely, Seonghwa seems to brighten and sighs a deep gust relief. "Good." He leans over to ruffle Hongjoong's hair. "I wasn't joking when I told you this was going to be the last time. Mingi gave me his number and I—"

"Mingi?" Hongjoong interrupts. "Yunho's _manager_ Mingi?"

"One and the same," Seonghwa agrees. "He's really nice and we have a lot in common. I thought maybe he and I could try it out for a little while and see where it goes, I just had to make sure you and I were on the same page first."

Hongjoong can't decide if he wants to be angry or crushed. It's not as if they're dating, so this isn't like being broken up with, but being denied access to someone he trusts enough to take him apart when he really needs it is a devastating blow to his ego. "You've been seeing him already haven't you?"

“Hongjoong—”

“Don’t do that. How long?”

Seonghwa huffs a harsh breath through his nose. “We’ve only been talking since the first meeting with your director. Mingi finally asked me on an actual date today.”

Hongjoong rolls the cooled bottle of water between his palms. Condensation drips between his fingers down to his wrist. “I’m happy for you, really, I just...this feels very out of left field.”

“Sorry.” Seonghwa leans his head against Hongjoong’s shoulder and gentles a soft closed-mouth kiss to the skin of his neck. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, don’t worry I’ll be fine.” Hongjoong crushes his cheek to Seonghwa’s still damp hair to keep his face hidden. “I reserve the exclusive right to kick him in the jewels if he makes you unhappy though.”

Seonghwa’s body vibrates with laughter. “Fair enough.”

**\---------------------------**

Yunho hands him another steaming cup of plain coffee the next day with a frown. “No offense, but you look like hell this morning.”

Hongjoong accepts the offering listlessly, no energy left in his arms to do more than reach and grab and flop back to his lap with the cup balanced on his knee. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Clearly.” Yunho props himself up in one of the open chairs of the makeup station. “Still thinking about the breakup?”

“Something like that.” 

Hongjoong tries not to think about the deep bruises dragging beneath his eyes that even two layers of concealer struggle to cover. Every time he went to close them last night, all he could see was Seonghwa’s bashful face mouthing the word _Mingi_ and he’d be dragged back from the edge of sleep to give his ceiling a depressed glare. He’d made the mistake of mentioning it to Yeosang after Seonghwa had left and the unsympathetic ‘ _how’s it feel to be on the other side?’_ Yeosang returned still makes his stomach curdle to think about. 

Hongjoong gnaws along the edge of the styrofoam cup. Was this what Seonghwa went through every time he left after one of their hookups? Staying up all night feeling lonely and sad instead of deeply satisfied? 

Yunho spins the chair to and fro. “Time heals all wounds,” he says sagely. “Just give it time.”

“Thanks, oh wise one,” Hongjoong says, lips quirking up involuntarily at the happy laugh Yunho lets out. Bitter coffee washes over his taste buds and he covers the smile with a groan. “God, I miss sugar.”

Yunho stops spinning and pins him with a look with a lot of concerned eyebrow. “When can you start breaking the diet restrictions? Soon, right?”

“Next week if filming goes as planned.” Hongjoong grimaces through the next sips of coffee. He’s always hated bitter drinks, and while this is _good_ it's no caramel frappe with extra whipped cream. Hongjoong misses the empty calories. “Maybe sooner if Hyungwon gives the thumbs up.”

Yunho offers up a crooked boyish grin. “Cool. What’s the first thing you want to eat when you’re allowed to start packing on the pounds?”

He’s too tired and emotionally wrung out to bother attempting to scare Yunho off by being a grump. He leans forward with a hand cupped around his mouth for a stage whisper, lest anyone overhear and thwart his plans. “You know the chocolate danishes craft services puts out first thing in the morning?”

Yunho nods, eyes wide and unconsciously leaning forward until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“I am going to steal the entire plate and eat all of them in one go.” Hongjoong dreamily pictures the buttery pastries melting in his mouth. “Maybe the donuts too if I have room.”

“Let me know if you need help on your donut heist,” Yunho giggles, “Could be fun playing bodyguard.”

“Sure,” Hongjoong agrees, shifting away from Yunho’s close proximity. “Whatever floats your boat.”

**\---------------------------**

Storyboarding clips finished and Yunho’s scenes at the office the studio had rented for Jacob’s introduction over, the team moves everyone to the main location in Jeonju for the bulk of the remaining filming. It gives Hongjoong time to forget about Seonghwa leaving him in the lurch to go serenade Mingi, or whatever it is those two are doing, and the stress of packing for weeks’ worth of stays in a cabin keeps his brain carefully blank while he folds and refolds his favorite shirts.

Yunho keeps texting him increasingly desperate texts of the nightmares he’s having about forgetting to pack underwear. It gets to the point that Hongjoong goes out and buys four packs in Yunho’s size as a joke. Maybe he can fling them at his co-star’s head right before filming starts and get him so flustered Yunho ruins his makeup enough times to get booted out. 

Maybe he’ll just fill them with itching powder and sadistically watch Jeong Yunho stifle the urge to scratch his balls during one of their more intense scenes.

Not that Hongjoong knows exactly what those scenes _are_ considering he still hasn’t found the willpower to actually read the ending of the script. It still makes him sick reading: _Ji Sungjoon gently leads Jacob into his home where they embrace and share an impassioned kiss against one of the charcoal prints of Jacob’s hands tacked to the wall._

Except it’s not Jacob he’ll be kissing, it’s Jeong Yunho. The man who replaced him at JDB. The man that represents everything Hongjoong wishes he still had and all the opportunities he’s already lost. Yunho might be nice and a decent actor, but good fucking god does Hongjoong not want to imagine putting his mouth anywhere near him if he can help it. He'll be just fine reading the script as the scenes come up, for his own peace of mind if nothing else.

**\---------------------------**

Chae Hyungwon is a slavedriver. It’s a good quality to have in a director, Hongjoong supposes, but not so much in a friend or someone that’s easy to hang around. He stares critically from his perch behind the playback camera, offering thumbs up or down depending on angles and lighting until he’s satisfied by whatever it is he’s seeing on screen. Hongjoong is told to tilt his head just so—no, not like _that_ , more like _this—_ and bullied into spine bruising positions to better represent the starving artist aesthetic. Apparently sitting with good posture in front of an easel wasn’t realistic, and instead he’s pushed forward by one of the set managers until his body resembles something out of Frankenstein—crunched into himself like Igor bringing a bag of body parts to his master.

The room is cramped. The chair they have him situated in even moreso, and by the end of hour four Hongjoong's back is screaming bloody murder. 

Ordinarily Hongjoong would finish a scene like this and go sit in his designated chair to wait for Seonghwa to find him and rub the kinks out of his muscles. Unfortunately Seonghwa isn’t here, neither is Mingi for that matter, so he’s left to fend for himself. He groans low trying to rub his neck and his shoulder, fingers never quite reaching where he needs it most and the frustration makes angry tears well up across his vision. If Seonghwa hadn’t gone rogue and decided to step into a relationship, then—

“Need a hand?”

Hongjoong jerks, looking up to find Yunho hovering next to him still decked out in Jacob’s suit. “What?”

“I said, do you need a hand?” Yunho taps against the top edge of Hongjoong’s collar where his fingers are still futilely digging into his skin. “That scene made _my_ back hurt and I wasn’t even in the room.” Yunho cracks his knuckles. “Mingi says I give good massages, so.”

Hongjoong rolls his lips between his teeth. On one hand, it’s willingly allowing Jeong Yunho to touch him. On the other hand: back hurt, massage good. He opts to lean forward just a smidge with a nod. “That would be nice, actually. I can’t reach the middle of my back and it hurts like a sonofabitch right now.” 

“Thought so,” Yunho says sympathetically. 

The first touch of his huge hands against Hongjoong’s back is a welcome warmth along the knotted up muscles and it takes all of his waning willpower not to moan like an idiot. Yunho leans over him with one arm wrapped around his front, just below his throat for a better grip on Hongjoong’s shoulder, and pushes him into his other hand rubbing tight circles dead center along Hongjoong’s spine. Hongjoong imagines this is what bread dough must feel like being mashed and molded in a bowl before being allowed to rest. 

He lets out an involuntary whimper of hurt under his breath when Yunho digs in particularly hard on the worst of the knots, right near his hairline.

Yunho pauses. “That hurt?”

“Yeah, but in a good way.” Hongjoong leans against Yunho’s still hand. “You should go into business as a masseuse.”

His co-star chuckles right up against his ear and resumes the movement of his hand. “If this acting business doesn’t pan out, then maybe. I’ll give you a nice discount for being my first customer.”

“Dude, I would pay you for the exclusive right to be your _only_ customer.” Hongjoong leans back to peer up at the underside of Yunho’s chin, noticing the way Yunho’s cheeks are tinged pink even beneath a layer of makeup. “You go public and I’ll never be able to book an appointment again.”

Yunho smiles. “Nah, I’d always have a spot open for you.” 

Hongjoong hums and lets Yunho work him over for a few more minutes before they’re both called to their places. The first meeting of Sungjoon and Jacob, the beginning of a sweeping homosexual romance, is set to begin.

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong stays awake that night watching Yunho’s western again to remind himself just how much he does not want to be held or kissed by him. Yunho is so clearly terrible at it anyway. His hands are so big the span of his fingers basically engulf the actress’s neck and jaw when he pulls her into a kiss. 

In fact, he’s so terrible at kissing that Hongjoong’s heart doesn’t skip a beat and his stomach absolutely _does not_ warm just imagining being on the receiving end—watching Yunho’s eyelashes flutter closed and his lush mouth move against his own. Not a bit. 

Not even a _little_.

**\---------------------------**

With special clearance thanks to her connection to one of the stylist heads, Park Jiyeon visits the set on an off day. The weather has decided to be uncooperative and all of Hongjoong’s scenes are pushed back because of it. 

He’s supposed to be filming the scene of Sungjoon cleaning the entrance of the shop and walking through the small village farmer’s market where he picks up a fruit he remembers Jacob preferred, instead they have him propped up in the main kitchen doing distracted swirling motions over a pot of boiling water for two hours while the key light burns in his periphery. A huge waste of time for something that’s more than likely going to be edited out in post.

“I thought you’d never get finished,” Jiyeon whines at him in the makeup trailer. “Weren't all your scenes cancelled?”

She’s sprawled out on one of the foldaway couches ogling her paramour styling a wig in the corner. Hongjoong blinks fast trying to get the last of the spots cleared from his vision. Two hours of being blasted in the face with two fill lights will do that he supposes. 

“They are for the most part. I think Hyungwon just wanted to have a bunch of filler just in case.” He flops down to an empty space on the couch next to her with an overwrought sigh. “What brings you here? I thought you were still filming that mockumentary stewardess miniseries.”

“Filming wrapped two days ago.” She gives him an affection kiss to the air above his cheek, careful not to touch any of the makeup slathered over his skin. “And I felt like dropping by and see my baby work.”

“Which one? Me or—” he trails off to jerk his head in the direction of Sunyoung focused on gelling a coif of a black wig just right, their tongue poked out from the corner of their mouth absentmindedly in concentration. 

Jiyeon shrugs. “Both. Not to mention Hoseok called me the other day to catch up and we planned a dinner date."

Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, glancing at Sunyoung tilting their head in their direction to subtly listen in. "A _date_ date?"

“Oh honey, no.” Jiyeon grimaces so hard her nose and cheeks crinkle up, pinched upward on her face. “I’m off the market and Hoseok is just a friend. We modeled together a few times before I fully committed to the whole acting thing.”

Sunyoung goes back to work, visibly relaxed smile on their face. 

Jiyeon shifts to get her legs in Hongjoong’s lap. She’s always bullied her way into his personal bubble like this, even when they were younger and not technically supposed to be interacting off set. Hongjoong just lets her get situated, propping his elbows on her knees and flicking around different social media sites on his phone while they trade current war stories and gossip. Sunyoung drops a soft, closed-mouthed kiss to Jiyeon’s cheek on their way out to deliver a makeup bag one of the stylists forgot in a rush.

Jiyeon sighs dreamily after them. “There goes the love of my life.”

“Thought I was the love of your life,” Hongjoong laughs, pinching the skin beneath Jiyeon’s knee just to make her yowl like a cat. “Rude.”

“You’re the _fake_ love of my life.” Jiyeon kicks her legs reminiscent of a toddler’s fit. “ _They_ know how to treat a lady and how not to keep secrets.”

Hongjoong goes back to scrolling through his phone. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

Jiyeon sits up to rest her chin on his shoulder. “What’s it like working with Chae Hyungwon?”

“It’s,” Hongjoong pauses to collect his thoughts. “I mean, it’s not so different than anyone else you and I have worked under. He’s strict when he needs to be, but he’s not, like, miserly about it. No one’s gotten yelled at or smacked with a clapperboard yet.”

Jiyeon hums. “And the...other guy?”

Hongjoong keeps his gaze locked on his phone, scrolling through TikTok on mute. “What other guy?”

“The one you gotta be extra friendly with.” Jiyeon drops her voice to a near whisper, “The one from JDB. Yunho.”

Hongjoong grits his teeth. “He’s—”

Speak of the devil and the devil arrives. Yunho apparently chooses that exact moment to come barreling into the makeup trailer still decked out in his crisp Jacob the Architect suit. 

Yunho freezes. “Oh,” he says, and looks a little bit like he’s swallowed a lemon.

Jiyeon offers up a friendly wave. “Yo! Nice to meet you!”

Hongjoong has heard her not act like a complete and terrible asshole to new people exactly _twice_ in all the years he’s known her, both times because she’d been interested in getting in their pants, and Hongjoong can’t stop from staring at her in horror. _Ew_. She nudges him pointedly in the side with her bony elbow.

“Ah, yes, likewise,” Yunho says and finally waves back. “Park Jiyeon, right?”

She preens, sitting up straight like a peacock about to fan out its spread of multicolored feathers. “The one and only. And you're Jeong Yunho? I saw you in Ariana Grande’s music video.” She whistles low like an old pervert. “Lookin’ good.”

Yunho rubs the back of his neck shyly. “Ah—thank you. I loved your character in _For Love of Basketball_.”

Hongjoong stares transfixed at the timid slant of Yunho’s mouth. _For Love of Basketball_ was his most memorable role, the high school sports themed mini-drama where he’d met Park Jiyeon. 

Jiyeon’s elbow digs deeper into his side. “What else have you seen me in?”

Yunho winces. “Um. Sorry, I haven’t really kept up with—”

Jiyeon cackles, and this is the Jiyeon Hongjoong knows and loves, the petty asshole who secretly enjoys making people uncomfortable. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Are you a Hongjoong fanboy then?”

Yunho rubs at his neck again and glances at Hongjoong before going back to studying his feet. “I guess you could say that.”

“Come hang out with us over dinner later,” she offers, “I was thinking of making this one treat me. Join the bandwagon and make your idol pay for your food!”

Hongjoong ‘accidentally’ smacks his phone against her leg. Jiyeon only smirks back. Bitch.

Yunho waves his hands. “N-no! Thank you, but I don’t want to intrude.” He dips forward on a half-assed bow before speedily backing towards his impending callback, “Have fun on your date!”

Jiyeon blows out a breath. “Who said anything about a date?”

“Who cares.” Hongjoong keeps his mind blank from even attempting to picture what it would be like to try and date Park Jiyeon for real. Other than the incompatible sexuality bit, he’s pretty sure no man is capable of handling her in her element. More power to Park Sunyoung for trying. He shoves his phone closer to Jiyeon’s nose. “Look at this dude trying to learn Fortnite dances.”

**\---------------------------**

Staying at the cabin just a few blocks from the main set is lonelier than Hongjoong thought it would be even though he’s lived alone for most of his life. Without Seonghwa around to keep him company, Hongjoong is left to wander from the main room to the bathroom and back totally at the mercy of his own thoughts. The cabin has a small television set that picks up four channels, spotty phone reception, and wifi that’s only a step above dial-up. With so few entertainment options, it leaves him circling back around to Seonghwa breaking off their convenient arrangement and he can’t stop—he can’t stop _thinking_ about it. 

Seonghwa is his best friend. Seonghwa is his manager. Somewhere down the line, Hongjoong had gotten his role all jumbled up and confused in his head and started treating him almost like a boyfriend in an open relationship. 

Hongjoong listlessly flicks through the same four channels on a loop. Maybe they did break up. Maybe Yeosang was right to ask him how it feels to be on the other side of watching someone you regularly sleep with go off and find someone else to spend their time.

His phone pings around midnight with a message from Yunho: _please tell me i’m not the only one who can’t sleep_.

Hongjoong sends back, _Channel 3 has some relaxing music if you can get over the static._

That should have been the end of that interaction, but somehow, after a glass of whiskey he bought at the airport, it ends with Yunho creeping from two doors down at one in the morning so they can run lines in the hopes it lulls them toward sleep. 

Hongjoong pours them each two fingers of whiskey and they clink glasses from opposite ends of his bed. The cabin is fairly small, so there’s really only enough room for a bed and a chair in the corner. Hongjoong may not be Yunho’s biggest fan, but that chair was uncomfortable as all hell, no one deserved the lumpy butt torture the old springs and deflated foam offered.

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong blinks awake, 4:26AM according to his phone, and finds himself entrenched in a new and gut churning dilemma: Jeong Yunho is sprawled half-way across his chest fast asleep, flush high in his cheeks from the alcohol still in his system, a heavy leg flung over Hongjoong’s thighs keeping him pinned to the mattress.

He remembers they’d gotten sidetracked after glass one, working their way through glasses two and three by trading stories about directors, the worst people they’d had to kiss on screen, pissing and moaning about weight training for vanity muscles, and giggling at each other over mishaps with the flesh colored socks they’ve had to stick their junk in for raunchy sex scenes. Yunho’s eyelids had started to droop and instead of kicking him out, Hongjoong, drunk out of his mind, had just pulled him into the empty space next to him so they could lie down facing each other and keep talking. 

It’s kind of nice having someone pinning him down like this. Hongjoong blinks lazily as he takes in Yunho’s sleeping face. Seonghwa had never stayed for this part, falling asleep together cuddled up beneath a pile of blankets. 

It’s... _really_ nice, actually. 

Looking at him through Ji Sungjoon’s eyes, Yunho— _Jacob,_ he reminds himself—is pretty, even slack mouthed and drooling against his pillow as he is. Sungjoon, at least, has taste. He hides a grin at the way Yunho scrunches his nose up for half a second, grumbling nonsense under his breath, before he’s tugging Hongjoong closer to his chest.

Hongjoong closes his eyes. He really should wake his co-star up and send him back to his own cabin to sleep, but the warmth of another person pulled in so close to him is addictive and Hongjoong is so _tired_. For now, he curls his hand around Yunho’s thick thigh and wills himself back to sleep.

**\---------------------------**

The great whiskey siesta goes ignored. Yunho doesn’t mention it beyond apologizing for commandeering his bed, so _Hongjoong_ doesn’t mention it, and they go about the first six days of filming not mentioning much of anything to each other beyond lines of script. Which is a little frustrating when everyone else in the crew is too busy doing their own thing to pay attention to him. Not to mention Song Mingi has finished whatever it was that kept him from flying out and now Yunho has even _less_ of a reason to come hang out.

“I miss being able to eat cereal whenever I want,” Hongjoong complains to Sunyoung as they dust his fingers with charcoal and graphite. Yunho is distractedly scrolling through his phone next to them with air pods in as he waits for his turn in the chair. Hongjoong snootily decides to ignore him back. “I miss takeout. There’s this amazing Punjabi restaurant close to my house that makes a saag paneer you’d trade an entire leg just to get a taste.”

Sunyoung snorts. “I’m not going to chop off a leg just for a bunch of cooked spinach and cheese.”

“It’s really good spinach,” Hongjoong says in its defense. “Like, top percentage of spinach.”

Sunyoung squints at him, bowl of black and grey dust momentarily forgotten. “Was that a Pokemon reference? Did you just _meme_ at me?”

“Maybe.” 

“Dude.”

He shrugs, careful not to move his fingers too much before Sunyoung can hose them down with setting spray. “Point still stands: I miss actual, honest to god _food_ and I’m sad about it.”

Yunho pulls out his air pods with a frown, obviously having been eavesdropping for the entire conversation. “I thought you were off your diet?”

“Not yet. We gotta get through the list of scenes today and then I can start packing them in.” Hongjoong gazes fondly into the middle distance. “Those chocolate danishes are _mine_.”

Yunho laughs. After six days of awkward silence, it’s nice to hear. 

Hongjoong smiles unthinkingly at his back in the mirror.

**\---------------------------**

Today is the first of three deeply serious argument based scenes, and Yunho hovers at the edge of the room they’re filming in with an expression on his face like he’s seen a ghost. Hongjoong lightly taps him on the shoulder. “Everything alright?”

Yunho spins, skin sheet white and his eyes huge and watery. He licks his lips before responding, voice thready, “Yeah. ‘S fine. Good. I’m good.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing it looks like you’re twelve seconds away from pissing yourself.” Hongjoong doesn’t know what to make of what it is he’s feeling. Sympathy, maybe. “Tell me.”

Yunho bounces on the balls of his feet. “It’s going to sound really fucking dumb.”

Hongjoong reflexively clenches his teeth around the shape of _you always sound dumb_ because he’d assured Seonghwa he wouldn’t jeopardize this role. He couldn’t. Jeong Yunho could scrape his nerves raw and still Hongjoong would grin and bear it. “Try me.”

“Fine.” Yunho deflates. It’s a bit like watching a tire slowly flatten around a nail. “I just—I’m a big fan of yours and it’s been a dream of mine for _years_ to be able to work on the same set as you.” 

Hongjoong nods, because that sounds reasonable, but that doesn’t explain why Yunho is the very picture of mortal terror right now. He motions for Yunho to continue.

“God, alright.” Yunho scrubs both palms down his face, heedless of the makeup he’s potentially ruining. “Just imagining getting seriously yelled at by you, of all people, is making me extra nervous. I don’t know why.”

Yunho was right, this is the dumbest line of reasoning Hongjoong has ever heard and it takes a lot not to immediately burst out laughing. He claps a friendly hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not really a yelling type of person so this is, like, a once in a lifetime experience. You can put ‘was yelled at by Kim Hongjoong for a role’ on your résumé to impress people.”

Somehow that seems to help. Yunho manages to get through the scene—Sungjoon vehemently denying wanting to be romantically involved with a man and casting Jacob out of his wife’s book store. When they’ve been given the all clear, Hongjoong shakes away Sungjoon’s anger bleeding into his veins and takes deep, clarifying lungfuls of air outside without all the noise of filming and bodies resetting the backdrop of books and drawings. It's too easy to get in the habit of letting the personality and emotional responses of a character to completely take over, skewing Hongjoong's personality in ways he doesn't necessarily enjoy until filming is over. Sungjoon is an emotional rollercoaster, a grieving needy man, easy to anger and easier still to love. Hongjoong takes him into his lungs and breathes him back out in the grey overcast of Jeonju's skyline until Sungjoon is gone.

Yunho doesn't seem to have the ability to compartmentalize what he's feeling from what Jacob is experiencing, or he's really just that weak to being yelled at by another actor that he admires. Yunho offers only a red-eyed, thin lipped smile before he disappears into the trailer the studio set up for main cast members to rest in.

Not really knowing what else to do, Hongjoong sends Yunho a message to cheer up and a picture of an orange tabby cat lounging across the street.

Yunho responds with a bunch of emoji hearts and a heartfelt _thank you_.

**\---------------------------**

_I did not insult the talent today are you proud of me?_ Hongjoong sends to Seonghwa while he enjoys a nightcap.

His manager is supposed to be coming up tomorrow morning to stay for a handful of days, though he's fairly sure Seonghwa is just coming up to see Mingi. He hadn't bothered to ask, and Seonghwa never mentioned, but the absence of bad news probably meant the two of them were making an honest go of it and the date(s) had gone well. Hongjoong spares a single jealous inward huff that Seonghwa is getting laid when Hongjoong isn't. When Hongjoong _can't_. Hell, even when the movie is over and had its international release, Hongjoong is going to be living the life of a sad eunuch with how microscopically examined his comings and goings will be in the media. 

_Very proud_. Seonghwa includes a low angled picture of San and Yeosang's faces grinning at the camera. _These two think you're still in denial btw_

Hongjoong downs the last of his whiskey with a scowl. _Tell them I know where they live,_ followed by a picture of his middle fingers, before setting his phone down angrily on the nightstand. 

_Denial,_ Hongjoong snorts to himself, _as if_. The only ones in denial were the people he called friends. 

**\---------------------------**

Hyungwon tells them the footage from yesterday is perfect and gives the all clear for moving forward with the script. Which means…

Hongjoong walks confidently up to the craft services table with its spread of breakfast delights and announces to anyone within hearing distance, “I’m about to destroy this plate of danishes and no one can stop me!”

Several crew members, including Hoseok and Yunho, laugh at his antics. Yunho makes good on his promise, pretending to play the part of his bodyguard with a hand held to his ear like he’s listening to an earpiece and directing anyone grabbing a cup of coffee or a bowl of cold cereal around Hongjoong’s back.

Feeling oddly charitable with the world now that his belly is full of carbs, Hongjoong offers up half a donut as thanks. “So, an actor, a masseuse, and a bodyguard. What other career options are you entertaining?”

Yunho shrugs, happily taking the proffered treat and ends up with powdered sugar on his chin. 

“You’re so messy,” Hongjoong tuts, wiping at the smudge of sugar with the end of his sleeve. “Clean yourself up.”

Yunho leans into him and his hands land on his waist, thumbs dipped between the edge of Hongjoong’s sweatpants and his shirt. Two miniscule pinpricks of heat that should be easily ignorable but somehow feel like twin burning lances digging beneath his skin. Hongjoong swallows. Maybe it’s a testament to how long it’s been since he’s had any kind of sexual relief. Maybe it’s the way Yunho’s eyelids seem to droop, eyes darkening, his mouth wet when he flicks his tongue out to swipe away the rest of the mess. Hongjoong tracks the motion, subconsciously licking his own lips.

This is _bad_.

This is monumentally stupid on his part, but Hongjoong suddenly _wants_ like he hasn’t wanted in ages—and not for food.

“Yun—”

They’re interrupted by Seonghwa. “There you are!”

Yunho springs away from him as if burned. Hongjoong resists the urge to pull him back and quietly sucks his teeth.

“Here I am,” Hongjoong says blithely over the sound of Yunho clearing his throat.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You weren’t in your cabin or the trailer, I thought maybe you’d been abducted,” Seonghwa complains and smacks at Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Turn your phone on for once, you brat.” 

Yunho makes a hasty retreat without so much as a word. 

Seonghwa frowns. “What’s up with him?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hongjoong grabs for his manager’s manpurse—”It’s a briefcase! For serious paperwork!” Seonghwa complained—"What kind of contraband did you bring me?”

**\---------------------------**

Before Hongjoong can even think about finding a much needed cup of coffee, Hoseok is already dropping the first outfit change of the day into his lap and telling him the makeup team is primed and ready for his arrival.

“I can see your nipple,” Hongjoong says nonsensically, the lack of caffeine making him loose-lipped and honest when he’d otherwise be content to ogle the goods in silence.

Hoseok glances down at his own chest as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He’s got a button down shirt tucked into a pair of sinfully tight jeans and it’s been left open wide enough that one pectoral is fully uncovered to reveal a metal piercing. “Ah.”

“Please tell me you knew already.”

Their wardrobe adviser and secret screenwriter lifts one heavily muscled shoulder in nonchalance. “I mean, they’re generally both out. Only one being on display is kind of rare for me, so.”

Hongjoong squints at him. “Why?”

Hoseok takes the liberty of unbuttoning his shirt completely and letting the edges gape open so his entire chest and the ridges of his torso breathe in the muggy humidity of Jeonju in summer. “Because I’m confident in my body and I want to show it off.” 

Hongjoong internally agrees. Hoseok is a fine specimen and any other day Hongjoong would feel more than happy to sit by the sidelines to appreciate the eyecandy, but he spends a long moment feeling a tad jealous. The diet for this role has his own stomach almost hollowed out and his ribs sickly jutting out from his skin, nothing he’d feel proud to show off by parading around in an open shirt. Pale, gaunt, and emaciated. It’s what he agreed to, but half the time Hongjoong feels like a ghoul—like a ghost haunting the set and giving the spread of finger foods forlorn and unhappy looks.

He picks at the flowy dress shirt they’ve got him dressed in today. It has carefully distressed cuffs with ink stains, charcoal smudges all down the front, plaster caught in the buttons and a smudge of white oil paint along the collar. He crinkles his nose. A messy shoot apparently.

Hoseok gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Go get changed and I’ll show you what these nipples do to our esteemed director.”

Hyungwon takes one look at Hoseok and dribbles water down his chin, in his effort not to send it spewing across his lap, and starts coughing. Hoseok only laughs.

“Oops,” he says, cavalier and not even an ounce of sincerity behind it. Hongjoong watches him dab away the worst of the spill with the edge of his sleeve. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” The director bats Hoseok’s hands away with an embarrassed scowl in place, reaching out to flick at Hoseok’s chest. “Isn’t it too early to be putting these weapons on display?”

Yunho wanders in as the two continue to bicker in the background, sleep soft and groggy, and droops his heavy weight along Hongjoong’s back to grumble about lack of sleep. Too tired to push him away, Hongjoong pets Yunho's face, not really caring if it means poking Yunho in the eyeball or mashing his nose.

They watch Hoseok cackle evilly before blowing Hyungwon a kiss, turning around to face Hongjoong with an expression like ‘see what I mean’. It also means Hoseok gets a good eyeful of Yunho wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s waist to prop himself up as Yunho does his damndest at falling asleep standing.

Hoseok’s brows raise at the same moment Hongjoong’s stomach drops down to his toes. Too much. Hongjoong has been getting along just fine becoming a sort-of friend to the guy he decided was enemy number one because he doesn’t have to _think about it_ when it’s just the two of them hidden away in their rooms. Having Hoseok witness them is…

Hongjoong tries to swallow and can’t, a lump of terror forming in his throat. He steps out of the circle of Yunho’s arms—completely ignoring the hurt noise of betrayal as Yunho stumbles—and busies himself with pretending to straighten his outfit for the day. Act natural. Just act natural and no one will figure out he’s not just gay for pay.

 _Fuck_.

“Where’s my Honey?” Hyungwon asks out of nowhere. “I can’t seem to get him on the phone.”

Hongjoong peeks from the corner of his eyes to see Hoseok smoothing back a few cowlicks on the director’s head. “Jooheon is still in Africa, where you _sent him_ weeks ago. He's probably in the middle of the Sahara with no reception.”

Hyungwon purses his mouth. “Why’d I do that again?”

“Because you needed a location scout and he was the only one available that you trust,” Hoseok reports with a put upon sigh as if this isn’t the first or third time he’s had this conversation. “C'mon, space cadet, let's get you some caffeine before you start asking if Changkyun is still covered in tattoos.”

The last thing Hongjoong hears before the two round the corner back towards the caffeine station is Hyungwon's blatantly sarcastic, "Kkukkungie has tattoos?” and the subsequent smack of Hoseok's hand connecting with the back of his head. ****

“Wonder what he’s going to be filming in Africa,” Yunho whispers next to him, before he’s yawning wide and stretching until his back makes an audible pop.

“Who knows.”

Yunho mumbles agreement and then he’s wandering away to track down Mingi for—something. Hongjoong doesn’t catch it, too busy caught up in his own head about Lee Hoseok potentially working out his secret.

**\---------------------------**

It really shouldn’t have surprised him that it all comes to a head while they’re practicing another fight scene.

For the moment, Hongjoong and Yunho have an easy stress-free three days off their rigorous filming schedule and spend it holed up in Hongjoong’s cabin trading stories about movie sets and their least favorite people to work with. Hongjoong mentions the unfortunate thing with the garlic kiss, Yunho tells him Ariana Grande farted in his face once.

“It’s going to be really strange coming back from this weekend of hanging out with you to screaming in your face,” Yunho confesses, head lolled back against Hongjoong’s headboard and grinning lazily. “We have to fight at least two to three days in a row according to the schedule.”

Hongjoong hums around a swig of whiskey. It’s a new bottle Seonghwa had dropped off on the way to see his new boytoy and it burns like liquid fire on every sip, settles in his fingers and toes with a heady warmth.

“Do you need to practice?” Hongjoong grins up from the messy scrawl of a notebook he’d doodled on to Yunho’s bright pink face, faded around the edges with deepening shadows. “So maybe this time you don’t cry about it.”

Yunho throws a pillow at him. “I didn’t _cry_ , I just, you know, needed a few minutes.”

“Yes,” Hongjoong agrees, “a few minutes to cry like a _baby_.” He accepts the second pillow to the face with a laugh and catches it, whips it back at Yunho’s stomach before flopping across his co-star like the world’s worst sort of blanket. “Seriously though. Do you? "

“If it will make you stop calling me a crybaby, then sure.” Yunho flicks him across the forehead. “Let me go get my script and I’ll be back.”

It’s a bad call. More than that, it’s a monumentally stupid suggestion because Jeong Yunho when he is in his element, when he is on fire with righteous indignation that is not his own but shows inexplicably on his face, is a sight to behold. Without the buffer of crew and stage lights and at least four people whispering suggestions behind Hyungwon’s watchful gaze, Hongjoong doesn’t have an easy way to put Yunho back in the section of his brain that says ‘Don’t Look and Don’t Touch, You _Hate_ Him’.

Hongjoong subconsciously backs up until his shoulder hits a wall. Yunho follows not even a half step behind angrily hissing lines almost against his mouth, which isn’t in the script at all, but sets Hongjoong’s already warmed blood surging to his cheeks, his belly, a hot pulse of arousal in his groin. 

“You have to let me in,” Yunho as Jacob hisses. “You can’t keep pushing me away because you’re afraid.”

“Can and I will,” Hongjoong breathes, ragged and turned on and not at all with Sungjoon in his brain. He’s transfixed by the tantalizing curves of Yunho’s heart shaped mouth, popped open and panting heated air along Hongjoong’s throat like a promise.

And maybe Yunho senses it too, that Hongjoong isn’t playing his part so much as he’s just living in the moment, and he scrapes a hand along Hongjoong’s hip to steady himself. Like a bowstring just before the snap, the air between them seems to tighten—Hongjoong can see the way Yunho’s pulse beats hard in his neck, how his jaw clenches, how his eyes darken like earlier when they were interrupted by Seonghwa.

Hongjoong drops his script.

Yunho hesitates for only an instant. “Hongjoong—”

It’s pathetically easy to pull Yunho in with a hot blooded crush of their mouths, not even worried about the painful click of their teeth in the all encompassing need to _taste_. Yunho groans, gives in, and leans his full weight against Hongjoong’s front to press his half-hard dick against Hongjoong’s hip.

“Is this okay?” Yunho backs away just enough to gasp.

“More than okay,” Hongjoong rasps, throaty and overwhelmed and aching, then, “Fucking—do it again.”

His hips ache by the end of it, humped mercilessly against a wall until Yunho stutters an apology and leaves.

**\---------------------------**

Filming the next day is _frustrating_. Not because of equipment or the weather or the uncooperative nature of a few of the extras, but because Yunho has gone from being a talented actor to an awkward stumbling moron who can’t remember more than two of his lines. They have to stop multiple times while Yunho apologizes profusely to the cast and crew for the standstill.

“I’m so sorry,” Yunho apologizes again, for the fourth time, bent low in a bow with his face blazing red. “I think I just need an hour or two to get my head on straight.”

Hongjoong spies Hyungwon and Hoseok sharing a look across the room, scripts rolled up in their hands. Hoseok jerks his head to the side and Hyungwon sighs deeply.

“Two hours. Max.” Their director claps a friendly hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “We all have off days, but we’re on a tight schedule here. Think you can manage?”

Yunho nods. He barely waits for the go ahead before he’s giving Hongjoong an overwhelmed glance and rushing back out of the rented house towards one of the mobile trailers he shares with Mingi.

With nothing better to do considering Seonghwa won’t be around until late in the afternoon, and Hoseok is busy speaking to someone over the phone, Hongjoong follows Yunho after giving him a five minute head start to cool off. 

Mingi stops him from going in with a palm to his chest and a scowl. “Are you going in to yell at him? Because if you are, I can tell you—”

“I’m not,” Hongjoong denies. “I just wanted to check in on him like any good co-star would.”

“Promise?”

“Dude, I don’t know what Seonghwa has been telling you about me, but I’m not actually that much of an asshole.” He kicks a little at the gravel leading up toward the trailer’s stairs. “I’m just worried.”

Mingi’s jaw flexes with the clench of his teeth, but thankfully allows him to pass after a tense moment of silence. Either Seonghwa told him about Hongjoong’s hate boner for Yunho’s, like, _everything_ or he’s intuitive enough to know Hongjoong isn’t Yunho’s number one fan. Hongjoong makes a careful mental note to grill Seonghwa about it later.

He finds Yunho curled up on the singular lumpy couch clutching at his head. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Might need more than a penny,” Yunho admits, ugly and scratched up like he’s only just holding back tears. “Sorry for being such a fuck up out there.”

Hongjoong isn’t going to lie and say it’s fine, because it isn’t and more than a few crew members had been muttering snide comments under their breath when he left, though he does drop down on his heels to try and look up at Yunho's face. He keeps his hands gripping on Yunho’s knees for balance. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You’re never this spacey.”

Yunho’s throat bobs as he swallows, face flushed in humiliation and his teeth biting into his bottom lip. “I keep thinking about yesterday and it—it throws me off my game.”

 _Oh_.

Hongjoong leans his cheek against one of Yunho's kneecaps. He feels super fucking smug being able to turn Yunho into a mess just from a few hours of making out like teens worried about getting caught out after curfew. “Yeah?”

Yunho clenches his eyes shut and nods. “Mhm.”

God, Yunho's legs are huge in comparison to his own. Thick and sturdy, they look like a place Hongjoong wouldn't mind sitting. Like a throne. “Wanna do it again?”

Yunho laughs, then groans into his hands. “ _Yes_ , that's the problem.”

Hongjoong blinks, confused. “Why?”

“Because I know it was just a—a momentary lapse of judgement for you. You're, I mean—” Yunho's legs bounce, dislodging Hongjoong from his place and he pouts. When Yunho finally glances between his fingers, he looks mortified beyond belief. “I know you're straight and, um, probably dating Park Jiyeon so—"

Hongjoong can't help it, he snorts once and then can't stop himself from laughing until he wheezes into the gap between Yunho's legs trying to suck in air. His co-star fidgets nervously beneath him.

“Maybe not?”

“Oh my god, Yunho, you big crybaby,” Hongjoong coos, reaching up to squeeze Yunho’s cheeks together until his face puckers. “Every girlfriend I've ever had was just a publicity stunt and Jiyeon is just a friend. A good friend, but a friend only.”

Yunho tenses under his palms, eyes wide and shocked. “So you're—”

“Ready and willing to suck your dick right here and now if you wanted me to? Yes.”

Hongjoong holds back the urge to smirk as Yunho tremulously inhales in a choked up breath. “Th-that’s not what I was implying,” he stumbles out, following with, “Wait, seriously?” 

Hongjoong puts his hands back on Yunho’s knees to rest his weight against them. His toes have gone numb from balancing on shoes with a harsh toebox cutting off his circulation. He gently runs his hands up the length of Yunho's thighs towards his belt loops, careful not to stray too far towards Yunho’s groin in case this isn’t going where he thinks it’s going and spooks him. “Seriously. If you wanna kiss, or if you wanna do something _more_ than kiss, then let's do it. I want you to.”

“Ah.”

Yunho worries his bottom lip between his teeth again, indecision clearly going to war with the prospect of getting laid. Hongjoong waits him out. They’ve got at least thirty minutes before a PA gets sent to deliver them back on set. He lets his fingers drum along Yunho’s inseam absentmindedly, waiting.

Minutes, hours, _eons of time_ , Yunho finally reaches forward to touch delicately along Hongjoong’s jawline. 

“Please,” he says, and Hongjoong doesn’t need to be told twice. He surges up while simultaneously pulling Yunho down, and they meet somewhere in the middle in a kiss that burns with urgency.

**\---------------------------**

Filming, in Hongjoong's opinion, goes along much smoother now that he and Yunho are in agreement when it comes to the shared experience of mutual orgasms. For every emotionally overwrought scene between Jacob and Sungjoon, there's Yunho pressing him into the roughspun linen comforter in Hongjoong's room, taking particular glee in smoothing his hands over the places where fat and muscle are starting to build back up in Hongjoong's arms and over his stomach. He drops stinging, biting kisses to the skin over Hongjoong's ribs, tugs his nipples hard enough to hurt when Hongjoong asks, takes direction in these heated moments like he's learning how to navigate Hongjoong's body by trial and error and excited by the prospect of getting lost.

Seonghwa thinks it's a terrible setup, and tells him as much, but doesn't actually try to talk Hongjoong out of it when he casually mentions their new arrangement. "I'm not going to try and coddle you anymore," Seonghwa tells him, an earnest sort of concern tinging his voice. "This is a lesson you need to learn the hard way." **** ****

Either Seonghwa or Yunho, maybe both, seems to have told Mingi, and Hongjoong is treated to flinty eyed looks across any given room as if Mingi wants to stab him in the throat. Hongjoong ignores him. He's not of the opinion that it matters much, all told. Mingi can hate him all he likes, _he's_ not the one getting up close and personal with Yunho's bits on the regular.

**\---------------------------**

Month two, working towards the final stretch of filming, Hongjoong is sprawled half-way across Yunho’s lap reading the next day’s lines over and over again, mouthing out the size and shape of a confession he’s fairly sure Sungjoon only half-believes in. Maybe he'll be proven wrong after the big culminating sex scene and find out Sungjoon is fully committed to his new and exciting relationship. 

"Hey, Yunho?"

Yunho quietly traces the indent of his teeth on Hongjoong's inner thigh. "Hm?"

Hongjoong keeps his nose buried in his script. "You think we're going to last as long as our counterparts? Jacob and Sungjoon, I mean." Yunho tenses hard beneath him, fingers digging harsh on his hip, and Hongjoong peeks over the edge of his script. "What? What did I say?" ****

"You've read the ending, right? The whole story?"

"I stopped at the sex scene," Hongjoong admits with a suggestive saucy waggle of his eyebrows. "Why?"

Yunho stifles an ugly laugh. "Jacob and Sungjoon don't actually get together in the end." Yunho reaches over Hongjoong's head to grab his well worn and folded script, flicking to near the end and pointing out the start of the last act. "Jacob's visa runs out and he goes back home to England. Sungjoon stays in his workshop, they don't even exchange numbers when Jacob leaves. The end of the film is just a shot of an older Sungjoon painting a last portrait of the two of them in their younger days before it all fades to black."

Hongjoong's heart seizes painfully. "Wait, seriously? So all this pining back and forth is for nothing?"

"Well, no, I mean they grow as people from the experience," Yunho tries to explain. "They get their moment in the sun before they go back to their ordinary, drama-free lives. It's a win-win."

"That's bullshit! Sungjoon loses his wife and now he's going to lose the second love of his life too?" Hongjoong crawls into Yunho's lap and threads his fingers together behind Yunho's neck. "Okay, for my own peace of mind, you be Jacob and I'll be Sungjoon, and we'll make up an ending where everyone is happy and in love and not fucking off back to England for no reason when their future is stuck in Jeonju painting fruit or whatever. You start."

Yunho smiles at him, gently removing Hongjoong's fingers from his neck and dropping a quick kiss to his knuckles. "I think you've been poisoned by all the romcoms you've starred in. Not all endings are meant to be happy." He soothes a hand up and under Hongjoong's sleep shirt to place his fingers on the gaps of his ribs still beginning to fill out. "Sometimes a story just...ends."

"But they're so in love! Why would Jacob just...throw that away?" Hongjoong burrows his face into Yunho's chest and wails plaintively, "This _sucks_."

"They don't throw anything away, hyung. Sungjoon learns to accept love as it comes and Jacob finally understands family isn't always only related by blood and a shared ethnicity. They needed each other for those lessons and then spend the rest of their lives cherishing the moments they shared together. It's supposed to be bittersweet." Yunho wisely doesn't mention the way Hongjoong hiccups on his next inhale. "Happy endings are cliché."

Hongjoong tightens his grip in Yunho's shirt. "Fuck you, happy endings are the best."

**\---------------------------**

Hyungwon is adamant that only absolutely necessary crew members are allowed anywhere near the set the day of the sex scene; the director himself, the videographer, the boom operator, and one lighting expert who sets everything up and then slinks to a far corner so she can smoke. Hoseok lays out two sets of terrycloth robes just offscreen before he, too, retreats from the room with a nearly hidden thumbs up. It's awkward. The whole situation is awkward, not only because their junk is squeezed into uncomfortable flesh colored underwear to be edited out in post, but now Hongjoong knows the size and shape of Yunho's body intimately. He knows what Yunho looks like when he's on the brink, knows just the right ways to touch Yunho now to make him shiver and moan in delight and also knows he can use none of that newfound knowledge _now_. 

Becoming Sungjoon takes a moment longer than usual, because seeing Yunho half-bare doesn't automatically think _Jacob_ , it makes him think,"That's my nemesis who I like to bang, who sucks cock like a fucking machine, and knows how to get me off just by playing with my nipples."

Yunho must suffer in much the same way because he's red down to his neck already, dark eyes somehow darker in the dim lighting. Somehow, Hongjoong honestly could not remember how the scene appeared on screen if you paid him, they manage to get through the desperately ardent faux-lovemaking without too many false starts and stops.

After, while the skeleton crew disperses so they can get redressed and work off some of the nervous energy in peace, Yunho pulls him to the side and lands a wet kiss to his mouth, one that isn't carefully choreographed for the prettiest angle standing under the right set of shadows. Hongjoong swallows a mewl of relief. It was weird to have this in half-measures, weird to hold Yunho and it not be the man he's used to. Everyone is gone so it feels safe to pull Yunho in closer by the lapels of his robe and bite against his bottom lip where it's swollen and slick soft already.

"Want a redo back at mine?" Hongjoong rasps against Yunho's mouth when they finally come up for air. "To finish what we started."

"Yes," Yunho agrees with his voice pitched dangerously low. "But I've got two more scenes to get through before I can. Raincheck? Later tonight?"

"I'm holding you to it." Hongjoong cruelly punctuates the statement by palming Yunho through the robe and winking when his lover groans deep, almost a growl hidden behind his teeth. "Let me know when you're done, mh?"

Seonghwa and Mingi are thankfully off doing whatever it is they get up to during the day. Hongjoong has his suspicions, but it's a welcome moment alone where he can finally step in the shower to wash off all the makeup and acrylic paint smudged over his arms and jerk off while the phantom sensation of Yunho's hands rolling over his chest is still fresh.

**\---------------------------**

The clapperboard sounds for the last time and Hongjoong allows his arm to drop, the fake charcoal in his hands clacking against the wooden easel. This ending is beautiful, truly, but he’s so torn up about not getting the happy ending that he’s more accustomed to that his heart aches imagining what Ji Sungjoon must have endured in the long dark after Jacob’s departure. Was he happy? Sad? Did he long for Jacob in the quiet nights when even the phantom memory of his late wife couldn’t keep him occupied? 

Hongjoong unhappily scratches at the pull of prosthetics to the skin along his arms, old wrinkles and blu-ish veins sitting close to the surface for the illusion of age. Chae Hyungwon throws a thumbs up in his direction and turns back to the replaying images with a furrowed divot between his eyebrows, concentrating on the shot.

Hongjoong watches Hyungwon watch him on screen and finally has the courage to ask a question he’s been avoiding since this whole adventure began. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you pick me for this role?”

Hyungwon rubs at his chin, scratching idly at the rough collection of stubble he’s let grow out in Hoseok’s absence while the screenwriter made a visit home. “You really want to know?”

Hongjoong cringes, but nods. This role is so unlike anything he’s ever done, it’s hard to imagine Hyungwon seeing him on the big screen and thinking ‘that’s my leading man’ with any kind of sincerity. Second leading man. A serious actor in an incredibly serious film at any rate.

Hyungwon turns back to the screen where Hongjoong’s final solo act is still replaying, eyes narrowed as he scans for errors. “I’ll be honest, when I first read Hoseok’s script, the only person that came to _my_ mind for Sungjoon had been Lee Soohyuk, because he can pull off that waifish tortured artist chic this movie called for.”

Hongjoong is man enough to admit that Soohyuk would have been a better choice just by virtue of appearing in more impressive titles. Hongjoong winces. “But?”

“But,” Hyungwon parrots, “And I mean no offense about any of this, but we asked Jeong Yunho for his own short list of actors he’d prefer to work with on this particular project and yours was really the only name that he sent back. I was going to throw out the suggestion and damn the consequences, but Hoseok saw the response first and wanted _you_. Honestly, I had seen that godawful postal service movie and already made a snap judgement about the extent of your acting capabilities and it wasn’t...kind.”

The playback stops and Hyungwon makes a low noise in his throat, a sound of pleasure Hongjoong has come to understand means he’s happy with something—with his performance in this case. 

“Why did he single me out for this?” Hongjoong resists the urge to scrub a hand through his hair and risk igniting the wrath of Jiyeon’s stylist beau. “What changed your mind?” 

“Hoseok sat me down and forced me to watch almost the entirety of that sports drama you were in, I forget the name.” 

Hongjoong blanches. “ _For Love of Basketball_? That? I was eighteen and playing a kid!”

“Yes, you were.” Hyungwon smugly leans back in his chair. “You also played the part of a struggling athlete so well, at least up until they decided to shoehorn in the romance at the last second, that I instantly understood why Hoseok was adamant Sungjoon had to be _you_.” Hyungwon turns to offer him a frown. “How you went from that performance to lackluster direct to video films I’ll never know. Get a better management company.”

“My old company dropped me,” Hongjoong says faintly, “Uh, I mostly manage myself with the help of my friends now.”

“Good.” Hyungwon offers him a friendly pat on the shoulder as the frazzled crew reset the lighting and the props for background stills. “As for why Yunho put your name in the hat?” He shrugs. “Might want to ask him.”

Hongjoong agrees and lets the director get back to watching his replays. He stays quiet for the rest of the day so he can better mull over the new information. Yunho had been asked who he’d like to work with and the only person he could think to name—the only other actor—was him. When Yunho had called himself a fan, Hongjoong had thought it was just the same old tried-and-true lipservice most actors throw at each other during pre-filming so you don’t start on the wrong foot. He hadn’t even considered Yunho was being _honest_.

His throat is tight when he swallows, nearly clicking against itself from sudden dryness. 

It’s only when he’s back at the makeup trailer getting his old man Sungjoon makeup removed that Hongjoong realizes the throat clogging heavy weight sitting in his chest is guilt.

**\---------------------------**

The wrap party is a riotous event—industry professionals getting sloppy at the open bar and Chae Hyungwon standing on tables with a beatific grin on his face. He thanks everyone and then says, with an edge in his tone that threatens violence, “I’m fucking _tired._ Anyone who isn’t Hoseok that wakes me up for anything that is not a national emergency will be castrated.”

The cast and crew, all familiar with Hyungwon's love of sleep and absolute hatred of anything that wasn't coffee or Jooheon or Hoseok, laugh and turn back to celebrate together, glasses clinking and conversation flowing in loud crashing waves in the hotel conference room they’ve rented. Champagne and tequila and cucumber sandwiches abound, though the food remains mostly untouched. Hongjoong loses track of how much he's imbibed by the third person who pushes a flute of something fruity and alcoholic into his hand.

Yunho finds him blinking owlishly at the bottom of a glass that Hongjoong doesn’t remember finishing, but the residue clinging to the rim tells him it was at least 80 proof. Like magic, they seem to teleport to the sparsely populated hallways where Yunho hides him in a dark corner and slides his mouth in new and interesting patterns across Hongjoong’s throat.

“I wanna keep seeing you after this,” Yunho confesses against his mouth, separating only far enough to keep the edges of their lips touching.

“Yeah. Yes, you have my number.” Hongjoong wiggles a hand underneath Yunho's shirt to finally scrape his nails along the taut muscles. “Anytime.”

**\---------------------------**

It's strange now that Hongjoong is home and not living in or around Yunho's pockets. His schedule for the first three weeks back is just his old routine: wake up, sometimes workout with Wooyoung or sweat with Jongho, pester Seonghwa about finding another gig, and binge watching whatever drama he'd missed while out filming. 

Only now...

Now sometimes Yunho will text him and drive over with a bottle of wine and a movie, or good takeout and himself. Hongjoong isn't picky, since it usually means getting laid either way, and having this easy access to dick when he wants is so much better than trying to be covert in darkened clubs and then having to walk around with VS models in the daylight. He likes the company and he genuinely, truly, likes Yunho. 

He’s a good friend.

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong has his head in Yunho’s lap, Yunho’s fingers in his hair, the inside of his thighs ache, and, along with the syrupy slow throb of the post orgasm high, Hongjoong feels _happy_. Being with Yunho makes him feel good in a way he hasn’t in—years, maybe. Not since the first time he’d dragged Seonghwa into his bed and definitely not since his brief stint in LA where he could get away with giving furtive handjobs in club bathrooms without getting caught.

“You know our managers are dating.”

He also knows Seonghwa bought a goddamn bouquet two days ago and it’s been radio silence ever since, so either the gift went _well_ or it went so catastrophically bad that Seonghwa has had to barricade himself in a bunker somewhere to escape the embarrassment. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of gross.” Hongjoong grins at the sound of amused disgust Yunho lets out, and shifts until he can look up at the underside of Yunho’s chin shadowed by a few days’ worth of stubble. “Mingi doesn’t know when to shut up about it and the oversharing is getting to be a bit much.”

“Really? Seonghwa hasn’t said much of anything about them to me other than sending me pictures of flowers he’s thinking of buying.” Hongjoong rolls until he can suck a bruising mark against the speckling of hair on Yunho’s thigh. “It’s _sad_.”

Yunho twitches beneath him, a noise of hurt caught up in his throat. “Is it? Or are you jealous because you want a bouquet for yourself?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hongjoong says, and distracts any further questioning by sucking Yunho down until he’s cringing into himself, knees bracketing Hongjoong’s ears as he begs and pleads for mercy.

Yunho drops off a floral arrangement the length of Hongjoong’s entrance table the next time he drops by, and Hongjoong only notices when Yunho goes to leave the next morning—trading the taste of coffee between them at the door.

Hongjoong stares at the spray of colors for a long nerveless minute and his mind goes blank.

Hands shaking, the first person Hongjoong calls is San, who picks up after the third ring with a hateful, “ _What?_ ” 

“I think I’m dating Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong chokes out once San’s tired grumbling is finished. The line goes silent. If it weren’t for the low hum of Wooyoung’s late night yoga music in the background Hongjoong almost assumed San had hung up.

San finally settles on, “You _think_ or you _know_?” 

Hongjoong opens his mouth. He closes it. He holds his phone away from his head to scream against his couch cushions. Hongjoong distantly hears San start laughing, promising they’ll be at his house in ten minutes, and the annoying beeping of a disconnected call.

San and Wooyoung bring him a bottle of half empty scotch and a block of tofu.

Hongjoong eyes the pair of them grinning on his doorstep dubiously. “What’s this for?”

“To new beginnings!” San says cheerfully as he bullies his way into Hongjoong’s home.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I wasn’t in jail?” Confused and a little concerned, Hongjoong follows them to the kitchen where San busies himself with getting the food unwrapped. 

Wooyoung pulls Hongjoong into his side by the waist. “You’ve been in self-imposed gay jail for years.” He also hands Hongjoong a tiny potted cactus. "For your personal growth," Wooyoung smirks.

He doesn’t really have a response to that, because it’s technically true and for good reason. It makes him dizzy just thinking about the fact he’s probably, maybe, definitely dating—

Hongjoong stops thinking about it. About Yun—him. _Both_. “I’m not going to eat plain tofu, guys. That’s seriously gross.”

San shrugs, still draining the tofu. “Oh, dude, I know. That was just a joke, I actually really wanted to make a stir fry.” He pokes his head into one of the cupboards above the sink. “Where do you keep your nasty store bought kimchi, you heathen?”

“Actually there’s some in the fridge.” Hongjoong turns to hide his face against Wooyoung’s shoulder, and mumbles, “Yunho left it the other day.”

He feels Wooyoung tense up, which makes Hongjoong’s fight or flight response kick in and he’s only started to shift himself away to go lock himself in the other room when San starts snickering. 

“Did he make it himself?” San folds down to cackle against his knees. “Oh my god, Wooyoung, I bet Yunho tenderly rubbed the cabbage and thought about our Hongjoong-ah the entire time.”

“Stop,” Hongjoong begs, “Please, I can only handle so much at once.”

Wooyoung sways them together. “You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Jeong Yunho, huh?”

“Apparently.” Hongjoong accepts Wooyoung’s gleeful hug and only rolls his eyes a little bit.

“Give us some details since we came all this way, at least,” San gripes. “Is he the little spoon or the big spoon? What’s his stroke game like?”

Hongjoong throws a piece of the still wet tofu at San’s head, relishing in the squawk of surprise. “None of your fucking business.”

“Is it better than yours?” San flutters his lashes, still picking bits of tofu out of his hair. “Because I distinctly remember you shooting off at, like, par three.”

“Don't equate my stroke game with _golf_.” Hongjoong scowls, and has to shove at Wooyoung’s side to make him go away when his yoga instructor starts snickering against his head. “And anyway I was young and inexperienced when we hooked up, so that doesn't count.”

San blows him a kiss. “Until you prove otherwise three strikes and you're out is what I'm sticking with.'

“Don’t compare it to baseball either.”

“Spoilsport.”

**\---------------------------**

It feels as if, between one blink and the next, Cannes is rising up fast on the horizon and Yunho is still an unidentifiable question mark circling his orbit. They walk with Hyungwon down the introductory runway, bulbs flashing across Hongjoong’s vision and questions about who he’s wearing, what happened with Sophia, what’s it like working with Chae Hyungwon all goes ignored. He’s a pro at this part—keeping his hips tilted just so, his gaze slightly above and to the right of any active photog, ducking microphones, and shooing Yunho forward when he gets distracted by an interviewer asking about his favorite snacks. This part is all for show anyway, _Finding Home_ won’t premiere for another eight days, butting up against a gore-filled dark comedy. 

The thing about experiencing Cannes is that Hongjoong doesn’t experience it _at all_. He rents a room at the Majestic and orders champagne and HBO while he looks out at the sea of tourists clustered together on the beaches, watches the sunset behind Sainte-Marguerite. Yunho spends his time in and out of movie premieres to see old friends and catch up and comes up to Hongjoong’s room with a tan settling in on his arms, across his nose.

Sometimes Yunho won’t leave at all and will doze on a lounge chair propped open on the balcony, a book or a pamphlet crinkled on his bare chest. Hongjoong drops into his lap on one such occasion and places Yunho’s huge palms on his chest, shimmies up until he can run his nose under Yunho’s chin like a cat begging for attention.

Yunho accepts his weight with a light rush of air through his mouth and dutifully rubs his thumbs over Hongjoong's nipples in just the way he likes.

“Good morning,” Hongjoong sighs, shivering from the heady sensation of Yunho's talented, talented fingers. “Missed you.”

“I was gone for less than a day,” Yunho laughs. He drags his nail over the hard nub of Hongjoong's left nipple like a punctuation mark. “You're so spoiled.”

Hongjoong hides a grin against Yunho's neck and places a wet kiss on the fluttering vein where Yunho’s pulse is beginning to pick up. He can feel Yunho starting to harden against him and takes pride in how easy it is to get him worked up. “You're the one spoiling me. 'S your fault, take some responsibility.”

Yunho rolls his fingers hard on Hongjoong’s chest. “Think you can come like this?” Yunho cruelly digs his fingers in tight circles, nails dragging along the edges in a promise of not-quite pain. “I think you’d love it if I could make you lose your mind without even touching your cock.”

“Please,” Hongjoong whimpers, and his hand flies up to cover his mouth when he moans too loud in the open air. “S-someone might see us out here.”

Yunho bites his neck, sucks a bruise in the same spot and tongues at the indentation he leaves in its wake. His laugh rumbles up, vibrating along Hongjoong’s back. “No one is going to look up here when the Mediterranean is right across the way.” He works a knee in between Hongjoong’s legs, forcing him to ride the slight upshift of skin. “I want to _see_ you.”

“Fuck,” Hongjoong slurs. “Fuck, that’s so mean.”

Yunho only smirks and does his damndest to take Hongjoong systematically apart—piece by piece, one careful pinch of skin and another.

**\---------------------------**

To the surprise of almost no one, _Finding Home_ wins the coveted Palme d’Or and the party that precipitates it’s arrival to Hyungwon’s luxury suite encompasses more of the hotel than Hongjoong thought possible. Hyungwon thanks him, drunkenly and too sincere, before wandering off to cry on the videographer’s shoulders and twirls Sunyoung around by their fingers. 

Yunho is quiet for most of it, a solemn pillar of sobriety propped up against one of the walls frowning down at his phone. Hongjoong joins him and passes a flute of champagne that isn’t worth missing. 

“Penny for your thoughts, young man?”

Yunho shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

They sip champagne until it’s gone and Hongjoong leaves to bring them another round. There’s a question burning on the tip of his tongue. “Can I ask you something? Not here.”

Something must show on his face, because Yunho nods and tugs him toward the elevator that will take them to Hongjoong’s room on the fifth floor. It’s only when Yunho is loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his suit, and becoming less sharp around the edges that Hongjoong finds the courage to finally ask, “Why did you ask for me to be your co-star?”

Yunho doesn’t stop undressing. In this he is meticulous, each piece of clothing folded neatly and draped on the back of the suite’s couch. “It might make you angry.”

“Try me.”

Yunho sighs, reaching out to work at the buttons on Hongjoong’s shirt. “The reason I even got into acting was to one day be able to meet you and it not be just as a fan.” He slides Hongjoong’s shirt away and lets it slump to the floor, forgotten. “I saw you in that basketball drama and became such a fan that meeting you, acting with you, someday sharing the same set and laughing as friends was all I could think about.” Yunho smiles, wry. “And then the instant I was good enough to join JDB, they were dropping your contract and sending me back to LA to feature in a bit part behind Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Brainless, the only thing Hongjoong can think to say is a short, “Oh,” of shock. Yunho murmurs agreement, leaning into him with a fervent hungry kiss and waltzing them closer to the bed where he pushes Hongjoong down, and down, and watches him swivel out of his suit pants without saying much of anything.

Hongjoong’s body feels like one long ache, an arching needy thing he can barely inhabit for how hot and _empty_ he feels caged in on all sides by Yunho’s long limbs and nothing else. For one hazy and delirious moment, Hongjoong thinks Yunho is just going to look at him until Hongjoong comes over his own stomach completely untouched.

“Yunho, come on,” Hongjoong begs. “ _Please_.”

Yunho takes mercy on him by dropping down to rock their hips together tight, still clothed in their underwear but hard enough it sends sizzling heat spiralling in Hongjoong’s gut. 

“Someday I’m going to tell everyone the same story,” Yunho grunts against Hongjoong’s chest. “And everyone is going to realize how amazing you are for themselves.”

Hongjoong writhes beneath him. His back arches involuntary as Yunho lips over his nipples and works a slicked finger into his opening with familiar, practiced ease, and anything he wants to say goes flying out of his head at each and every tug at his rim.

“But they won’t be able to have you either,” Yunho growls the instant he bottoms out, holding Hongjoong’s thighs over his shoulder and bending him just enough to make it hurt. “They can only look because I’ve got you here”—Yunho fucks in and _in_ and Hongjoong thinks he makes a noise like “Gah”—” _with me_.”

It’s the last thing Yunho says before they’re both lost to the tides of pleasure. Hongjoong remembers saying, desperately, “ _Only with you,_ ” like a moron before he’s lost, pulled under.

**\---------------------------**

"We should go out and have dinner." Yunho traces designs along Hongjoong's thigh casually thrown over his lap as they watch the ocean from the hotel balcony. "Something ridiculously French before we have to fly back home."

Hongjoong frowns. "What's wrong with just getting room service?" 

It's not quite dark yet and the last rays of the sun spread out pink and orange on the horizon. Leaving now would mean being caught by tourists and film buffs with too many questions, which would mean no time to themselves and too many eyes staring at them at once.

Yunho, somehow because apparently he possesses hidden _magic_ , gets Hongjoong to finally put clothes on for the first time in what feels like days, body thrumming with delicious new aches and pangs. They don't wander too out of the way, only going so far as Le Manoir on the recommendation of the front desk. It's still too public for Hongjoong's taste and he nervously eyes wait staff and dinner patrons waiting for someone to jump up and say, "I know you!" 

Yunho reaches over to touch his arm and Hongjoong nearly jumps out of his skin. Yunho's smile falters. "You alright?"

"Just...a little jumpy, I guess. Nerves."

Yunho buys a tiny sliver of rich cheesecake to share. Hongjoong, emboldened by a thinning crowd, offers up a theatrical moan after the first bite, smirking when Yunho swallows hard and shifts in his seat.

Yunho crowds him up against the railing of the elevator on the ride up and fucks him slow and steady once they're back in the room. Every steady push of his hips is a metronome rhythm.

"I like you a lot," Yunho tells him. "Really, Hongjoong."

"Like you a lot too," Hongjoong returns, gravel rough, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "You're so—god, you're so big, Yunho."

Yunho laughs hard enough that Hongjoong feels it, folding down so he can scrape his teeth over Hongjoong's chest, their hands threaded together pressed against the bed.

**\---------------------------**

Of the many things that come along with starring in a major motion picture, the revolving door same-but-different rounds of press junkets and two minute interviews are some of his least favorite activities. He and Yunho are sat down in uncomfortable director style chairs with a black curtain behind them, fielding question after question of what filming was like, Chae Hyungwon’s methods, who their celebrity crushes were, and so on and so on until Hongjoong mentally checks himself out to save his last remaining braincells.

Towards the end, a new journalist tries to do something new and pivots the conversation towards weird things on set.

“Oh, Yunho likes to send everyone cat pictures.” Hongjoong brightly informs her. “Like the ones you see passed around on twitter with pink hearts and things all over them. He’s got a hidden treasure trove of those things, I swear.”

“I don’t have _that_ many saved,” Yunho pouts goodnaturedly. “People are going to think I’m weird.”

“You send me a new cat literally every day,” Hongjoong points out, because it’s terrifyingly true. 

The interviewer scoots forward in her seat, visibly intrigued. “Can we see your camera roll? Just how many cat pictures do you have saved?”

Yunho bites his lip. “Um—”

Hongjoong snatches Yunho’s phone from his back pocket, because who respects boundaries anymore when Yunho told him the passcode months ago. “Let me find them for you, one sec,” Hongjoong says, giggling as Yunho desperately tries to get his phone back. Hongjoong ends up finding more pictures of himself than he does of cats, but tells the woman with her clipboard of notes that the camera roll is a bunch of personal pictures and only three new cats saved from Google. She is disappointed, but moves on in favor of more tried-and-true questions like, “Who’s your inspiration?” and the subject is dropped.

Hongjoong smiles around the rim of his water bottle in between interviews. “You’ve got a bunch of me saved in there.”

“Yeah, well.” Yunho holds his nose high in the air. “I thought maybe I could turn into a fansite if this acting thing doesn’t pan out.”

“Really.”

“A Kim Hongjoong fansite,” Yunho muses. “Wonder what I’d even call myself?” He gives Hongjoong a sly look. “Something nice and complimentary about your thighs maybe.”

“You get bonus points if you can fit the word nipples in,” Hongjoong agrees. 

Yunho leans close to his ear before the next round of questions. “I can fit them in anytime.”

And it’s a good thing there’s only one interview left. Hongjoong coughs to cover the motion of adjusting himself in his trousers, ignoring the way Yunho slides him a self-satisfied smirk because he’s a terrible, awful tease.

Yunho casually, absentmindedly tries to hold his hand walking out of their last presser and Hongjoong panics, jerking out of Yunho’s grip and trying to play it off as needing to scratch an itch. It’s the first time Yunho has tried for anything so public and Hongjoong’s anxiety spikes.

They don’t talk about it, but Yunho sends him wounded looks all through dinner.

**\---------------------------**

They’re sprawled out against each other on Yunho’s couch when he announces, “I’m going to come out.”

Hongjoong’s fingers go numb. His ears ring. “You’re what?”

“Going to come out. Officially.” Yunho worries at his bottom lip, the nervous habit Hongjoong had noticed when they started working together however many months ago. “I’m tired of living my life like it’s some big shameful secret. I was waiting for Cannes to finish, but I—”

Hongjoong shoots up to sit upright. “You can’t!”

Yunho glares. “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t come out.” Hongjoong’s hands shake. How would it look to other people if he was caught stepping out with a gay celebrity? How fast would people jump to conclusions? “What are you going to do about work? No one will hire you again if you tell people you’re gay.”

Yunho offers up only a flippant one shouldered shrug. “Does it matter? I’d rather be out and proud than stuck in the closet pretending I’m happy stepping out with a model just because I need a _beard_.”

Hongjoong winces at the personal jab. “Yunho. You’re not thinking clearly here. What about me?”

Yunho sighs. “I was hoping you like me enough to join me.”

“I don’t,” Hongjoong swiftly denies, terror seizing his throat in a vicegrip just imagining what that would be like, and none of it strikes him as being particularly pleasant. “You can do whatever you want, but I'm not going to ruin my career just because I happen to prefer dick.”

Just stay inside where it’s safe, Hongjoong wants to plead with him. The status quo was there for a _reason_ and society wasn’t ready for a visibly gay Korean actor just yet. 

“Where did you think this thing between us was going to go?” Yunho only offers him a sad, searching look. “I’m not going to force you to come out with me, but I'm not going to be anyone's dirty little secret either. I’m almost 30, for god's sake.”

“So am I but you don’t see me racing to the top of the maypole.” It feels like all the blood is rushing in his head, over his eardrums. Maybe he’s bleeding out on Yunho’s hard linoleum and this is nothing but a fever dream.

They stand across from each other at an impasse. An unstoppable force meets an immovable rock. 

Yunho hands Hongjoong his phone where he’d dropped it on the coffee table. “Did any of what we had mean anything to you at all?”

“No,” Hongjoong bites out, livid that Yunho is so hellbent on ruining what they had. “You were just an easy fuck.”

Yunho deflates, nods, and quietly asks Hongjoong to leave.

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong stews in his own home for a solid week and refuses to see or speak to anyone but himself. Mingi visits, once, to drop off some things Hongjoong had left at Yunho’s place. Seeing the boxed up remains of his sad affair feels like a suckerpunch to the throat. Even the extra toothbrush Yunho kept for him looks sad and dejected, carefully rolled up in a paper towel, the shitty kind Yunho bought because he was cheap and hated cleaning. It was an impossible dream to think they could have gone on forever, Hongjoong knows that now.

“You look like shit,” Mingi says, snorts, then, “Good. I thought I was going to end up punching you harder.”

“What do you mean _hard—_ oof!” Mingi lands one punch to Hongjoong’s gut—a quick there and gone intense pressure that knocks the air from his lungs and Hongjoong wheezes against the pain.

“That one was for me since Yunho is still too in love with you to want to see you hurt.”

“Fuck you,” Hongjoong wheezes between his teeth. “Just drop whatever it is and go. I’m busy drowning myself in Sailor Jerry.”

Mingi’s scowl lessens but is no less severe. “Both of you are miserable. Not that I necessarily care about you beyond whatever makes Seonghwa happy, but... _dude_ , get over yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Mingi kicks at the box of miscellaneous detritus he’d brought over. “All this pissing and moaning about who gets to come out and who doesn’t, I get it, but you’re both clearly head over heels for each other. It seems really stupid to just let Yunho fly off without getting any closure.”

Hongjoong’s stomach, still smarting, drops down to the floor. “What do you mean ‘let him fly off’?”

“What it says on the tin.” Mingi offers only a hard mouthed glance. “Yunho is flying to LA for two months to house hunt. He’ll be back for the first round of awards ceremonies and then making a semi-permanent move after the Academy Awards.” 

Hongjoong stops breathing.

“Maybe by then you two can be civil without insulting him just for existing.” 

Mingi leaves him there, hunched over in the middle of the entrance to his home. Hongjoong doesn’t think to move until his legs give out and he goes careening face first towards the floor.

 _Oh_.

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong sends exactly two texts over the next eight weeks: a generic _have a safe trip_ the day of Yunho's flight to Los Angeles and a drunken, typo riddled, rambling essay about Yunho's hands at 2 A.M. on a Wednesday the week Yunho is due to return home to Korea. Both go unanswered but not unread. 

The thing about missing someone is that you never really have a moment to yourself to _stop_ missing them. It hits him at inconvenient moments: doing the dishes, folding laundry, staring at some of Yunho’s favorite snack cakes in the middle of a grocery store aisle, trying to hide his crying behind sunglasses as he shoves one in his mouth on the ride home. 

Two months.

61 days of no contact as he watches Yunho’s instagram feed fill up with half-naked modeling campaigns and interviews with Out magazine. Yunho is on the cover of People and Star Weekly with Donghun’s name attached to the pictures like that means something. Yunho poses with one of the Try Guys at a dance studio and the internet explodes with speculation.

Hongjoong worries at his nails thinking, _that should be me. We're the ones who should be posing all cute on the cover of a magazine holding baby pugs_. 

He doesn't feel ready, not really, to announce to the world who he truly is when his career balances so delicately on the razor's edge. It would have been easier with his reputation all but ruined, but that was before Chae Hyungwon swooped in to catapult him back towards the coveted short list of actors people wanted to see on the big screen. He's already gotten offers for things that aren't romcoms: horror movies, a comedy, a dark fantasy based in medieval Europe.

"Some endings are meant to be bittersweet," Yunho had said what seems like ages ago. "Happy endings are cliché."

Hongjoong isn't sure he can stomach any kind of ending—for himself, for his career, for his...for Yunho. 

**\---------------------------**

Hongjoong allows his own social media to go dark for just long enough that Seonghwa gets concerned enough to show up at his doorstep with a bottle of wine. “Thought you could use some company.”

Hongjoong opens the door wide enough for Seonghwa to come in. “Does Mingi know you’re here?”

“He does.” Seonghwa doesn't bother finding a glass, just pulls the cork from the bottle and takes a swig, which is good because Hongjoong hasn’t had the energy to clean for at least a week and every piece of dishware he owns is currently moldering in the sink. “Come sit or I’m going to finish this bottle by myself and you hate it when I get drunk.”

“Only because you start giggling and never know when to stop,” Hongjoong mutters, but accepts the peace offering for what it is. The wine is a bitter, tannic red that clings to the back of his throat. Hongjoong hands it back and blinks lazily at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I’m doing, hyung. Everything I want is apparently wrong.”

Seonghwa quietly swallows another mouthful. “Let me ask you this: if I were to leave today and I told you we couldn’t meet face to face ever again, what would you do? How would you feel?”

Hongjoong mulls that over with a pull from the bottle. “I’d be sad,” he settles on, “but, I mean, there’s always Skype and text messaging.” Hongjoong picks at a thread coming loose in the sleeve of his sweater. “Not like we’d never be able to talk, you just couldn’t be right in front of me. I’d get over it.”

Seonghwa nods, satisfied. “Alright, now close your eyes.”

“Seonghwa—”

“Just do it.”

Hongjoong, too tired to disagree, closes them.

Seonghwa clears his throat. “Now, picture the same scenario except it’s Yunho. You with me?”

Heart in his throat, Hongjoong dips his chin down. Skype, he reminds himself, and FaceTime and Zoom calls if he had to. He could still see and hear Yunho whenever they had the time.

“Now imagine he was in a place that had no cell reception or wifi. That means no FaceTime, no social media of any kind.” Seonghwa presses a hand over Hongjoong’s eyes and continues mercilessly, “For all you know Yunho is dead to you in this scenario and he’s never coming back. How would _that_ make you feel?”

He tries to picture a life spent without seeing Yunho’s face, without hearing his voice or tracing the veins in his hands again, and it’s so depressingly jarring that the space beneath his ribs actually begins to burn with a physical, pulsating hurt. Like a tender spot along the roof of his mouth made worse by endlessly probing at it with his tongue. Yunho is gone. Yunho went to LA. Yunho is looking to move and leave Hongjoong in the dust.

“I—”

Yunho, who is perfect in most ways and human in so many others, walking onto a plane and disappearing into the sunset. Forever. 

A hot stripe of wetness rolls under Seonghwa’s hand and all Hongjoong can say in his defense is a pathetic, “Fuck,” of emotional devastation. “Hyung, I—”

“You?” Seonghwa probes gently when Hongjoong trails off. “You what?”

“I think…” Hongjoong’s throat feels scraped raw, a gaping wound, but he somehow, miraculously, manages to quietly admit, “I’m in love with him. I’ve liked him this whole time and I—I let him go to LA without trying to convince him to stay.”

“Glad to hear you finally admit it.” Seonghwa holds him tenderly at arm’s length. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“I—” Hongjoong swallows. “I’m going to tell him face to face.”

“Good. Go make it right,” Seonghwa tells him. “I’ll lock up on my way out.”

“I’ll try,” Hongjoong promises and flees.

**\---------------------------**

"I'm not a good person," Hongjoong says the instant Yunho opens the door to his apartment. "I'm not. I'm selfish and rude and I hated you for the longest time just because I thought you stole my position at JDB."

Yunho stands before him wordless, a pained expression on his face and the muscles in his arm pulled tight from the shaking grip he's got on his door handle. "I know."

Even dressed in old sweats, a gym shirt so worn out there are visible holes near the armpits, Yunho is so gorgeous Hongjoong’s teeth ache with how badly he wants to touch.

"The first time we slept together I only did it because I thought it would be fun," Hongjoong continues, because he's a horrible horrible person and Yunho has the right to know. He hiccups. "That's not—the other times weren't—"

"Hongjoong," Yunho cuts through his jittery speech with a sigh. "I _know_. I'm not an idiot."

Hongjoong keeps his hands fisted into the material of his sweater. Yunho may not be an idiot, but Hongjoong _is_ and he's trying to apologize for it, make amends somehow. Another tear works its way down his nose and fans out along the seam of his mouth. 

"I'm in love with you," Hongjoong confesses like he can't hold it back, it just falls right out of his mouth to land in a heap at Yunho's feet. "I shouldn't and I'm really sorry, but I do. I love you, Yunho."

Yunho’s chin wobbles painfully for an instant. "Why are you here?"

"Because I've missed you," Hongjong says miserably. "I just...I wanted you to see the person I really am instead of that glorified idol you had propped up in your head. And I—I wanted to apologize." He sucks in a wounded breath through his teeth that makes his lungs hurt and his head ache. "Maybe I just wanted to see your face one last time."

Yunho eyes him silently, stoically. Hongjoong feels himself wilt under the scrutiny.

"Is that it?"

"What?"

"Is that all you have to say to me?" Yunho presses.

He sniffs, ugly and wet, and shakes his head once, a jerky side to side motion, but he doesn't look away from Yunho's face. This is the last time they'll see each other for—for forever, probably, and Hongjoong is too greedy to give up the chance by looking somewhere else. Outside of a movie screen or Youtube, this is all he's going to see of Yunho for an indeterminate amount of time.

“I wanted to say I was sorry for everything and I wish I could take it back.” Hongjoong wipes his face on the back of his sleeve, hiccups. “If I could go back in time and hold your hand in the middle of a fucking busy intersection, I would.”

Yunho takes in a deep breath, says, "Okay," and then, "Fuck, you're such an asshole." But he's dragging Hongjoong in by the neck and planting the filthiest kiss to his mouth so—

"Yunho," Hongjoong wails, shocked against him, "Yunho, what are you—"

"I love you," Yunho bites out along his mouth. "I'm going to learn how to forgive you, but it's going to take time, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong dizzily considers a future in which Yunho is a part of his life and shivers in barely concealed delight. "Rest of our lives long enough for you?"

"We'll see," Yunho says directly against his lips before pulling Hongjoong fully into his home and closes the door.

**\---------------------------**

They don't actually have sex in the aftermath of Hongjoong's confession. Yunho holds him tight once they're inside, keeping his face hidden in Hongjoong's neck like he's worried if he looks it will be ripped out from under him again and Hongjoong is going to take it back. They talk. They cry. Hongjoong explains that he's still nauseous at the thought of coming out, but for Yunho he'd be willing to do anything. Yunho tells him he doesn't actually want to move to Los Angeles, he just needed a place to escape when Hongjoong started walking out with fake girlfriends again. 

"I slept with someone while I was gone," Yunho guiltily admits once the worst of the tears are over and he's got Hongjoong in bed, under the covers, holding on for dear life with his knuckles going white against the comforter. "I thought I could just get you out of my system, but it felt gross and wrong and I didn't stick around. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong," Hongjoong whispers. He still feels sick and tender through for pushing Yunho away so completely. "I probably would have done the same. You didn't owe me any kind of fidelity then." He bites the inside of his cheek. "You don't owe it to me now, either."

Yunho laughs. Not a happy one, but a near thing. "If you think I have enough room in my head to think about anyone but _you,_ then you're an idiot. More of an idiot, at least."

"The biggest idiot," Hongjoong agrees. "Can I—can we try this again? The right way this time?"

"Yeah." Yunho reaches for him under the blankets. "In the morning. For now, just get over here and hold me." Yunho's breath stutters. "It's been over two months and I've _missed you_."

**\---------------------------**

_Finding Home_ wins Best Picture. Yunho and Hongjoong are both picked up as nominations for Best Actor, are ultimately passed over for someone distinctly American, but Chae Hyungwon wins Best Director so Hongjoong thinks it’s all balanced out. They watch as Hyungwon grabs Hoseok’s embarrassed yet happy face and plants a kiss to his mouth, the pair of them stumbling under the great crashing wave of applause.

Down the red carpet, through the swell of celebrities spread out among tables and auditorium seating, Hongjoong holds tight to Yunho’s hand and not once thinks about letting go.

Hongjoong leans his head against Yunho’s shoulder and smiles at the soft press of his boyfriend’s mouth to the crown of his head.

He’s finally living his happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone that saw jiyeon's name and went "T-ARA!" i give you a kiss mwah
> 
> thank you for your patience on this one! the world kinda went sideways there in the middle of writing and between rewrites number one through five i kept waffling with where i wanted this to go because of it, but i really hope this was worth the wait. ♥️ also i am a giant wuss who cried at the end of my own fic. please tell me i'm not alone or i will probably cry harder lmao

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Ash


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